The Legend of Spyro: World Fury
by LauncesMechinist
Summary: Eighteen years have passed since the events of Metal Storm. The Southlands, now known to the humans as Avalon, have come into a world that none knew even existed. While everyone enjoys the hard won peace, a dark shadow of an all but forgotten enemy begins to resurface. For the children of James, Lysa, Spyro, Cynder, Ignitus, and Thera, a war none have foreseen now looms over them.
1. The Winds of Change, Fires of War

**Well everyone, I find myself unable to contain my exitement for the sequal. So here it is, officially, The Legend of Spyro: World Fury!**

**Oh, by the way, I've fleshed out the prologue a bit so don't think you've seen this one before. Some sections maybe, but not the whole story. Plus a new name to fit the prologue. So sit back and enjoy the reading. Plus I found an interesting fact. When I first named the main character 'de Launces' I was thinking 'the Lance'. Turns out there is a fish somewhere in southern France called the Launces. I named my main character's family after a fish...who knew.**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE, ONLY MY OCS.**

_**Prologue: The Winds of Change, The Fires of War**_

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_"Attention! Attention! Ensign Joshua de Launces to the bridge! Repeat: Ensign de Launces, the Captain wants you on the bridge. __**Now**__._"

Josh eased himself up out of his cot and pulled on his coat, groaning at the announcement.

"Likely Fergusson reported me. Damned prick. All I did was break his nose in a friendly little brawl. Oh what the hell, guess even a little brawl has to go on report." He opened the hatch and started towards the stairs to the bridge. Along the way, the few sailors who had witnessed the 'brawl' saluted him proudly and some even broke protocol and gave him a few good-natured pats on the back.

Fergusson was the same rank as Josh militarily and in nobility. His father, Lord Gordon Fergusson was one of the more prominent figures in Syllian nobility and was also one of the seven Chief Justices of the National Committee. Despite his father's recent rise in the ranks and his older sister's success as Ambassador to the newly formed independant nation of Avalon (formerly the Southlands), Bradley Fergusson still liked calling him 'low-born'; an insult to the lower nobility. Due to his disdain for the nobility of what he called 'lesser houses' and commoners, he was universally despised by most of the crew. Still, rules and regulations forbid the unlawful fighting between officers. The days when officers and gentlemen would duel each other with swords or pistols had faded at the turn of the century mainly thanks to Josh's father, the Dragon Mechanist, James de Launces.

Josh had held his own but had not come away from the fight unscathed, he had a massive shiner on his right eye and was very sure he'd lost one or two teeth in the back of his mouth. Plus, according to Captain Renard, it didn't matter who started the fight, it was still against regs.

Still contemplating this, Josh stepped onto the bridge and snapped to attention before the Captain, who was all but staring daggers at both him and Fergusson who stood beside him, likewise sporting a shiner on the opposite eye and a wrapping around his nose and what looked to be a few bruised knuckles for where he'd missed a punch and struck the mess hatch. Yet he stood defiant of the Captain.

One of the good things that came from the Southlands Conflict several years ago was the elimination of the law that commoner military officers, no matter their rank, could not pass judgement on a noble born soldier, enlisted or officer. Another thing Josh's father had under his belt (much to the chagrin of the other nobility). The Captain allowed his face to take up a bright red color.

"_WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY DO YOU TWO __**NUMBSKULLS**__ HAVE TO SAY ABOUT THIS?! NEVER, I SAY, NEVER, HAVE I SEEN TWO OFFICERS COME TO BLOWS OVER SUCH A SMALL AND INSIGNIFICANT INSULT. FERGUSSON, ACCORDING TO THE REPORTS FILED, __**YOU**__ WERE THE INSTIGATOR OF THIS...IMPROMPTU __**PISSING MATCH**__, AND I __**ESPECIALLY**__ DON'T LIKE THAT IT HAPPENED IN THE SHIP'S MESS. I HAVE HALF A MIND TO MAKE THE TWO OF YOU GO BACK TO THE MESS, GET DOWN ON YOUR HANDS AND KNEES AND PICK UP EVERY PIECE OF BREAD, EVERY DAMN PIECE OF CHICKEN, EVERY PIECE OF BROKEN DISHWARE AND THEN __**LICK**__THE DAMN FLOOR CLEAN. THE TWO OF YOU __**TOGETHER**__ BROKE SIXTEEN CHAIRS, FIVE TABLES, SIXTY-FIVE PLATES, ALMOST ONE-HUNDRED GLASSES AND ALSO THREW A __**VERY**__ EXPENSIVE BOTTLE OF MY PRAETORIAN CONCORD WINE, AN 1801 VINTAGE, THROUGH THE PORTHOLE WINDOW! WHAT DO EITHER OF YOU HAVE TO SAY IN YOUR OWN DEFENSES?_"

Josh remained tight-lipped because he knew the Captain's temper. If he decided to say anything, he would be pulling double shifts, plus KP, plus 'preventive maintenance' for the rest of the patrol, on top of that shore leave would be (and probably already was) cancelled for a week; plus suspended pay for however long the Captain deemed fit. Fergusson however, being just transferred here from his previous assignment, did not know and proceeded to place his foot in his mouth, and Josh saw the Captain become ready to either castrate him or rip him a new asshole.

"Ensign Fergusson, until the end of this patrol, you AND Ensign de Launces will be performing KP at opposite times in addition to your standard and extra shifts. Plus, the two of you will be performing preventative maintenance on opposite sides of the ship, AND, for a _month_ both yours and his shore leaves are cancelled. Once we return to Sanijo, you two will remain on board while we prepare for the next deployment. I may or may not decide to rip those bars off your shoulders for this, and bust the two of you down the ranks to Apprentice, maybe even _lower_...DISMISSED." Fergusson blanched but the implied threat had its effect, he shut his mouth, turned on his heel and all but fled the red-hot iron gaze of the Captain. As Josh turned to leave, the Captain held up his hand, his voice now much calmer having vented his rage and delivered his rebuke.

"Stand fast Ensign. Now, while I do indeed abhor your actions I cannot deny you have earned the admiration of the crew. Plus, it is good to see that self-righteous little shit taken down a notch or two, to see how a true soldier handles himself. The ship's proud of you Josh, and I for one, would like to see you one day in command of your own ship, that's why, despite my words, I do not intend to write this incident up. Make no mistake, you along with Mr. Fergusson will do your punishments and pay the Navy back for the broken items, but there will be no reductions in rank, nor corporal punishment. I need good, strong, and loyal officers to control the day-to-day operations of the ship otherwise the ship wouldn't sail. Remember: _A ship is nothing without her crew, and a crew without a ship is just a group of Marines without a ride._" Josh chuckled lightly at the old joke, as did the Marines who were on the bridge. The Captain nodded and dismissed Josh so that he might return to his duties.

At that moment however, the radio operater looked up.

"Captain, one of our scout planes reports seeing an unknown fleet ahead. The fog obscures his vision but he swears he saw three carriers and four battleships." The Captain nodded.

"Must be the Federation Fleet we are supposed to rendezvous with, send the normal transmissions and salutations." The radio operator nodded and sent the message but then frowned. He pressed the key codes again, waited, then frowned again and shook his head.

"Sir, they're not responding to my hails. There isn't even a 'sorry wrong number' signal. Just static." The Captain frowned.

"I don't like this, our radios are state of the art...hmmm...Ensign de Launces, sound General Quarters, all hands to stations. Weber, radio the other ships in the fleet, tell them what's wrong. Laeden, increase engines to full. Helm come to course one-five-five south-southeast. Fight or flight gentlemen: Prepare to fight or prepare to retreat."

John ran to the PA system and keyed it up. Both fear and excitement rushing him.

"_All hands General Quarters! Repeat: General Quarters! This is NOT a drill!_"

Immediately red lights began flashing and sirens began blaring throughout the ship and sailors from all three shifts began rushing to their stations. Senior enlisted and officers were shouting orders. Cannon operators rushed to their turrets and guns, watchmen took their posts on the tower bridge and aft bridge, the hum of the engines picked up as the ship accelerated. The radio operator, after a moment of confusion as if trying to understand something, paled and turned to the Captain.

"Captain! The scout plane was just shot down by an interceptor! The fleet isn't friendly!" The Captain turned and grabbed the PA speaker from Josh.

"_All hands prepare anti-air countermeasures! Main guns at the ready for ship-to-ship combat._"

A loud buzzing roared overhead as the Captain looked back out the bridge windows.

"We don't have any planes from the _Defender _in the air...do we?"

As if in answer, a series of bombs exploded on a nearby light cruiser, one lucky bomb went down the funnel and exploded, ripping the _Callahan_ in half and effectively sinking it. Josh ran onto the starboard side wing of the bridge and gaped in horror as a plane came diving towards the bridge. He had just enough time to turn to the Captain.

"_INCOMING!_"

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Over the skies of the port town of Sanijo, over the Sanijo aerodrome, a series of planes of various sizes, designs and colors flew in an ever changing formation in an effort to take the first position. One plane in particular was flying high, low, left and right dodging and even barrel-rolling as it passed other planes like they were standing still.

The radio in the plane cracked to life as Gordon's voice broke over the speaker.

"_Okay Bertram, only ten laps to go, do you have enough fuel?"_

Bertram de Launces, youngest son of the Lord of Launces, James, looked at his fuel gauge and keyed the mike.

"Roger Gordo, I've plenty of fuel! I'm winning this thing."

Bertram pushed the throttle to the max and shot ahead of two more planes, the roar of his P-29's engine drowned out Gordon's reply at being called Gordo (again).

The announcer's voice echoed from the plane's radio and the actual skybox.

"_Ladies and Gentlemen, Bertram de Launces in plane number 10 shoots past Richter in 07 and Maxwell in 305 to take third place. In just a few months the young pilot from Launces and protégé of the legendary Blue Baron Reyson Havvers has taken the Sky Racing Circuits by storm! I have to wonder though, is he the new rising star in the sport his mentor created? If so then what a legacy, what a chance! If Bertram pulls this off he'll be the first recruit ever to win the Sanijo Silver Circuit!_"

Bertram laughed and pushed the throttle up further, the speedometer rose to 220 miles per hour. He gripped the stick and prepared to pass again when a high pitched whine echoed and he groaned. Looking up, he saw another racer he knew, Michijo Ayatane, who was piloting the number 19 pass him and the the pilot ahead in plane 13, Nicholas Greer.

Scowling, his did a quick barrel roll while accelerating and passed Greer as well. Then he flipped a switch next to his speedometer, engaging the plane's booster. Engaging a booster in a plane is the same as spraying fuel into a running engine, flames shot from the pipes under the cowling and the P-29 rocketed foward. He pulled up on the stick and flew straight over Ayatane's cockpit canopy, barelt five inches from taking the canopy off with his right wing.

A string of Blue Isles curse words rattled his eardrums momentarily stunning Bertram, once it cleared, however, he laughed and spoke into the radio.

"Geez Ayatane, what's with the profanity and did you just call me a 'dumbass'?" A very angry reply was quick to grace his ears again.

"Yes dumbass! One foot lower and you would have taken my head with you! Anyway, I thought boosters were not allowed?!"

"Not in the rookie races, however, once you graduate from the Bronze rank to Silver, you can customize your plane however you choose, even adding a booster. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a race to win." A coarse laugh came through.

"That so kid? Well I wish you luck in passing me." Bertram smiled.

"Just you wait Rey, today the student surpasses the master!"

"Your confidence is inspiring. I am curious however; is there enough room in the cockpit for that swelled head of yours?" Bertram laughed.

"Might want to keep your mouth shut Rey, otherwise you may just get bugs in your teeth with that old antique of yours." Reyson replied rather quickly.

"Hey! The P-10 isn't an antique, it's a classic!"

Bertram looked ahead and saw Reyson's plane soaring easily in first place, he was in second and Ayatane was in third. Reyson's P-10 was in all honesty, nothing more than a rebuilt, all-metal P-4 bi-plane. Still, no one could say Reyson didn't know the plane's limits. Knowing he couldn't add a booster to the plane, Reyson had opted for a super powerful engine that, according to Bertram's father, was the fastest engine he'd ever built for an aircraft (so far).

The engine was almost twice the size of the old one and had three times the power of the original. The result was an antiquated bi-plane that originally went no faster than 155 m.p.h. was now able to match the new P-29s at 250 m.p.h. The only downside was that the P-10 was now extremely heavy and difficult to take off and land. Once in the air it was maneuverable but it took a firm hand on the controls otherwise the plane's torque would spin it out of control.

As he looked behind he saw his best friend and Reyson's son, Jake, moving from a steady seventh place and jumping to third, passing an irate Ayatane. Jake was just a year younger than Bertram and as such they often had friendly rivalries. Air Races were just another way to challenge each other.

Jake's aircraft was painted a flame red and gold mix, the number 11 emblazoned on its side. Unlike all the other races who preferred single engine planes, Jake flew a twin-engine variant of the P-20 called the _Skylark_. It was easily the fastest plane in the race but special air brakes had to be added to keep the plane under control in turns, this resulted in a reduction in speed but boosted the aircraft's balance and stability.

Bertram looked back and smiled at the irony, his mentor was in first place, him in second, Jake now in third, and hot-tempered Ayatane in fourth. Their racing team taking all four top places would be quite a boon for them in the rankings. However, the chance to take first place was a great chance to boost his own personal chances as both a pilot and a candidate for officer's training in the Syllian Royal Air Corps. Reyson had told him before the race that if he managed to pass him, he'd put Bertram on the short list for officer's training. Everyone knew that the so-called 'short list' meant not only becoming an officer and squadron or wing leader, it also meant being able to test the prototype planes the Royal Air Force was thinking of adopting; planes that his father had put a lot of time in designing and developing. The race was the ultimate test for him as it was anyone who wanted an officer's commission from Reyson.

Bertram knew first hand that Reyson drilled all of his students relentlessly. As not only one of four Air Commanders but as the headmaster of the Launces Flight Academy and overseer of the Launces Testing Grounds, he could decide who remained as first or second wingmen, who became squadron and wing leaders, and what types of prototype aircraft they would be allowed to test when the time came.

As he continued to think of ways to pass Reyson, a siren began to whine and Bertram looked over towards the port of Sanijo. A huge ship was steaming into harbor, multiple breaches in it's armor, it's aft castle, turrets, and deck was burning and it was spewing thick black smoke from its damaged funnels. He was in perfect position to see the number on the ship's hull and blanched when he saw _172_ on it's side. He hurriedly keyed the mike.

"Reyson! Reyson! The _Duke Obël _is incoming, it looks like she's suffered severe damage!" He heard Reyson curse and speak.

_"Concerned about Josh, eh? I understand. Make for the port runway immediately. I'll radio the air boss." _Moments later, Reyson's voice crackled through the radio to the race tower and the air boss.

"_Attention Sanijo Race Officials, the fast battleship _Prince Obël_ has returned and is severely damaged. Due to his brother being an Ensign aboard the ship, Bertram de Launces is pulling out, as am I. My rank as Air Commander means I must also investigate any possibility of attack._"

There was a pause, the raceway intercomm kicked in.

"_Ladies and Gentlemen, due to an accident in port, Reyson Havvers and Bertram de Launces are pulling out of the race. The leader is currently Jake Havvers followed closely by Michijo Ayatane. Third is Russel Knox in plane number 509 and fourth is held by Thomas Richter._"

Bertram saw Reyson pull away and head for the airstrip near the port and followed. He couldn't shake the feeling, but something was wrong, seriously wrong as the smoke rising from the stricken battleship was thicker than he had ever seen before.

A frantic message on his radio got his attention.

"_Attention! Attention! Battleship RNV _Prince Obël_ to Sanijo Port Command! The 19th Patrol Fleet was ambushed and destroyed by unknown attackers. Enemy fleet is making steam course south-by-southeast. Contains three carriers, four battleships and several cruisers and destroyers. Prepare for attack. Repeat: Prepare for attack._"

A moment later, air raid sirens began blaring throughout the city, and anchored ships of the Sanijo Home Fleet raised anchor and started their engines. Off in the distance, Bertram could see smoke plumes and a cloud of aircraft in the distance.

An explosion ripped through a port building and Bertram looked up to see a dive bomber crater another. The enemy was already here.

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Well everyone, here is the prologue. I hope you all like the changes I made and hopefully I fleshed it out enough so that it doesn't appear blocky. Next chapter will be the battle for Sanijo. As always, please rate and review.

Oh, by the way, fun bi-plane fact for you. Reyson's P-10 suffers the same problem the British Sopwith Camel suffered in WWI. The engine had high torque and speed for maneuverability, however, if the pilot didn't maintain a strong grip on the flight stick, the engine torque would spin the plane counter-clockwise and rip the wings off. No wonder so many died flying the aircraft. According to official documents, 2 out of 5 pilots crashed due to torque problems or losing control of their planes.

Next Chapter: Enemy Above


	2. Enemy Above!

**Hello everybody! Okay, I've basically decided that it's high time I get my butt out of the Lazyboy (and away from my XBox 360) and get to work on the Metal Storm sequal. Well, you've seen the prologue, now here's the first chapter. Plus, sorry if anyone gets annoyed by me skipping from one project to the next but sometimes taking a different look at something helps me refresh the idea factory.**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.**

_**Chapter 1: Enemy Above**_

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Bertram landed at the Sanijo Joint Command Airfield just behind Reyson who had already sprinted to the nearby hanger. The air raid sirens were going off and the civilians in town were in an uproar. Bertram followed Reyson into the hangar and saw him on the radio keying it to the Launces frequency.

"Attention! Attention Launces Home Guard Air Corps! This is Air Commander Reyson Havvers! Hostile fleet sighted and is closing, Battleship _Prince Obël _sustained heavy damage. Requesting immediate reinforcement from any planes and Dracocorps members. Does anyone copy?"

The radio remained quiet for a time. The only sound in the airfield was the sirens and the whine of planes powering up to take off and intercept the enemy. A few times Bertram turned and saw a plane or two touch down on the field as patrol or race pilots returned to the base to ready their battle planes. Reyson repeated the message again and again. On the third try he got a response.

"_This is Launces Air Command. Commander Havvers are you __**sure**__ the enemy is hostile? We've been friends with the Federation for a while now so it's natural you'd be surprised by their fleet and think it hostile._" Reyson allowed the infamous Havvers temper to flare and grabbed the mike in a white-knuckled choke grip.

"Listen to me dammit! Why would the _Prince Obël _come into port with more holes in her than a block of Praetorian cheese and declare an incoming fleet hostile? I don't think the Captain or her officers are given to making such ill humor." There was a sigh on the other line.

"_Okay Commander, please confirm that the fleet is __**indeed**__ hostile._"

At that moment, a bomb exploded on a parked plane outside the hangar Reyson just happened to have the mike triggered when it happened. The reply was instant.

"_Jumpin' Jehoshaphat! What the hell was that?! Commander? Commander!_"

Reyson unplugged his ears and grimaced, keying the mike, his voice taking on a calm yet sarcastic tone.

"I believe a hundred pound bomb just cratered a parked P-25 out on the runway, would you like to explain to me that we're _not_ under attack?" The line was silent and finally.

"_Scrambling all fighters from Primary Launces Airfield and Secondary Airfields two-two-three and two-two-seven. Expect as many as one-hundred fifty planes inbound in half an hour._"

Reyson acknoledged and shut down the radio. He turned to Bertram.

"Bert. I need you to stay down here. You're still a cadet and your mother and father would hand my ass to me on a silver platter if you got killed." He turned to several pilots nearby.

"Blue Squadron with me! We'll be providing cover for the ships still at anchor!"

The squadron members saluted and ran to their planes, all P-29s. Bertram rankled a bit at being left behind and decided to make himself busy assisting the AA defences. He ran to the base commander and saluted, in return he was thrown a pair of bolt cutters.

"Damn watch officer got drunk and lost his keys somewhere! If he survives this, I'll kill him myself. Anyway, Launces, get the armory open so that we can load the guns all we have out currently is low caliber guns for show. Get movin'!"

Bertram made a mad dash across the emergency runway to the armory building and broke the chain on the first try. Immediately, he was swamped by soldiers grabbing whatever weapon was closest and as much ammo as he could carry. On memorable one that would have been funny if the situation wasn't so dire was a young private, probably not even eighteen, grabbing a .65 caliber heavy machinegun by the handle, the tripod slung under one arm, and several nine yard ammo belts wrapped aroind his neck, shoulders, and waist and the running for the nearest vacant emplacement, the bullets clinging and clanging like bells.

Another case was a grizzled old sergeant who grabbed a shotgun with the name _Matilda_ carved into the stock and grabbed boxes of shotgun slugs then ran to the same gun emplacement as the kid. Bertram himself grabbed an MR5C and bolted to another emplacement. The MR5 was the only weapon other than his sidearm that Bertram was trained with. The 'C' varient of the weapon was a carbine type weapon used by pilots who were shot down and also carried a large clip of twenty to thirty rounds. Best of all, you could fire it semi-auto or full auto. Bertram took a position on the air tower and joined the defense as bullets arced up from the various guns stationed around the field. Most common were small arms however there were of course machineguns, AA flak cannons, even a few artillery cannons that had been modified to act as additional support.

He was pleased somewhat to see the other members of his squadron arrive next to him with their weapons as well. Together they were firing into the mass of enemy planes that were over the airfield. As Jake changed the clip of his carbine, he turned to Bertram.

"Just who the hell is crazy enough to attack us? Aren't we at peace with the only nations capable of this?" Bertram shrugged and chambered a round as he reaimed his weapon. Suddenly, a burst of flak caught one of the hostile planes in the cowling and the plane caught fire, spun, crashed into another hostile plane, and then slammed into the runway. Another plane, shot down by a P-25, crashed into a crane near the airfield.

Ayatane looked at the downed plane and squinted to see the markings on the fuselage. What he saw made him blanch, a grey and black quartered diamond within a reverse black and grey quartered square.

"Guys! These planes are from the Rotiart Principality!" This got the attention of some nearby gunners.

"Rotiart?! What the hell did we do to piss them off?" Bertram shrugged and fired a burst at another low flying plane.

"I don't know what we've done, if anything, but the shit has officially hit the fan."

Ayatane looked out over the harbor from his spot on the tower and cursed.

"The ship's are firing wildly! They're hitting as many of our planes as they are enemy planes. Several of them are still in dock!" Bertram looked over the rail down to the harbor.

"Damn! Did they not take the warning seriously?"

At that moment, an allied P-25 crashed into a parked fuel truck causing a massive explosion nearby. Bertram shook his head and looked at the others.

"Guys, we aren't doing shit down here on the ground. We should make a bee-line for the hangar and see if there are any flyable planes left." Ayatane, Jake, and another pilot near them, Briggs, nodded.

Under cover fire from the machine gunners, the four pilots made a mad dash for the nearest hangar. Inside, they found the hangar officer yelling at the mechanic. Bertram approached them.

"Sir! We need planes to go fight the enemy." The officer turned and looked at Bertram.

"No can do Launces, orders from the top, no nuggets in the air." Jake came forward.

"Sir, we are not even making a dent in the enemy force over the city and the air field. What good are we as pilots if we cannot take off in the middle of an attack? Sarge, do we have any planes ready?"

The mechanic sergeant shook his head and pointed to the planes behind him.

"No, she's down, she's broke, she's shit, she's scrap. I've got five planes left, one's good to go, one needs ammo, three need fuel and the fuel truck that just blew up like my ex-wife had the last of our on site reserves in it. In short, no fuel, no flying."

Bertram looked at the planes here. The one that was good to go was an obsolete P-17 Scout, the other that needed ammo was a twin engine P-21 Night Fighter. Bertram had an idea.

"How much fuel is in the low ones?" The mechanic scratched his head, looked at the officer who simply sighed and shook his head.

"You four are disobeying orders to stay grounded, however, these are unique circumstances. If you lot feel like you can do something, go for it." The mechanic looked back to them.

"The two P-29's have one-third tank, the big momma B-15 over there has a fourth. What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking Jake'll need a tail gunner for the P-21. We can siphon fuel out of the P-17 and as well as the ammo since they all use the same caliber gun right?"

The mechanic nodded and went to work. Within a few minutes, with help from Bertram and the others, the P-21, and the P-29's were fueled and loaded. As Bertram climbed in, the officer tapped his shoulder.

"I'm going to have to inform Reyson that we've got nuggets in the air, you'd better make a difference in the air and not on the casualty list." Bertram nodded and closed the canopy to his plane and started the engine. As he started forward, another enemy plane crashed into the control tower where they'd been moments earlier. The tower leaned, and fell, blocking the primary runway. Unfazed, he kicked the rudder left and started down the emergency runway, much to the shock of the gunners along the sides of it. At that moment, the radio kicked in.

"_Attention! All friendlies be advised,we have nuggets in the air!_" Bertram heard Reyson's rather fiery response to this and keyed the mike.

"This is Bertram de Launces, callsign Gold-One, we're going up." Following protocol, the other's keyed in as well.

"_Michijo Ayatane, Gold-Two, airborne._"

"_Jake Havvers, Gold-Three, up and away._"

At that moment, another voice came over the radio.

"_This is Lieutenant Albert Collins coming in from Launces Air Base, if you nuggets want to fight then fall in on my wing."_

Bertram's squadron did as told and soon lined up with planes from Launces. At first Bertram didn't recognize the colors, then he remembered.

"Lieutenant Albert Collins, callsign 'Longbow', Commander of Archer Squadron, and one of the original aerocorps volunteers." A laugh came through the radio as Collins keyed his mike.

"_The same, and you must be Bertram de Launces, the 'problem child' of the academy, every bit as stubborn as your father, I see. Well kid, training time's over, in battle refer to others by their callsigns. As you know, mine's Longbow. My wingmen are Javelin, Tomahawk, and Sledge. Now that that's out of the way, Javelin, break off with Gold-Two, Tomahawk, Gold-Three. Sledge, you are free to engage. Gold-One, with me. You want combat? We're heading over the fleet. Hopefully we can splash some enemy planes without the Navy blowing our asses off._"

Bertram turned his plane with Collins' and proceeded towards the southern harbor where several ships were still at anchor.

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Reyson couldn't help but curse when he heard that the recruits were going up, still, he was enough of a pilot to realize that they needed every plane they could get. Perhaps they could hold out until the reinforcements from Launces could arrive. Regardless, each recruit had a veteran pilot with them to keep them out of any heavy fighting. Looking out over the harbor, he spotted the _Prince Obël_ under fierce attack, then keyed his mike.

"Blue-One to squadron, provide top cover for _Prince Obël_, she is down on the fore and doesn't look like she'll take much more." The confirmation was instant and the entire squadron flew over the slow moving battleship.

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On board the _Prince Obël_, Josh had his hands full trying to keep the battleship afloat and also silently thanking whoever built this ship to sustain such heavy damage. The _Prince Obël_ had twenty-four compartments in her hull and had a status board on the bridge. Each compartment had five lights: green meant eveything was normal, yellow meant some damage had been sustained, red meant the compartment had been disabled, blue meant the compartment was flooding and a flashing orange light meant that there was a fire in that compartment.

Out of all the battleship's compartments, only four still held green lights. fourteen had yellow lights, the remaining ones were red. Six of the damaged compartments were busy with fires, and three of the red compartments were flooding. To make matters worse, all but one of the ship's four engines had been knocked out and the ship was barely making a wake at three knots on one screw and she was going down by the bow unless the pumps could get the water out. At least the AA defenses were still holding strong, and for that Josh was thankful.

During the ambush, the Captain had thrown Josh clear of the blast, saving his life at the cost of his own. Whether he liked it or not, Josh was now the senior officer on board and thus acting Captain. As planes began to fly overhead and engage the enemy, Josh was horrified to see some of his own gunners, rookies most like, targeting and firing on allied planes. He immediately ran to the PA system and grabbed the mike.

"Attention all AA gunners, check your targets! You're firing on our own planes!"

Almost immediately the AA gunners stopped and then opened up again, this time firing at the correct enemy. Josh turned to the radio operator.

"Send a message to Royal Navy Command at Royalis: 'Sanijo under attack from hostile force. Enemy believed to be Rotiart Principality. Enemy ships holding back but are using aircraft to soften us up. Request reinforcement from any nearby fleets.' You got that?"

The operator nodded and began transmitting the message. Josh meanwhile went to the starboard wing of the bridge and began scanning the skies with binoculars. No sooner had he looked through them did he see several planes coming at the battleship. They flew low to the water and carried something under the fuselage. Josh didn't need to wonder twice what they were. He turned and grabbed the PA mike again.

"AA gunners, focus fire starboard-bow, five torpedo planes coming in low and fast!" He then grabbed the wheel and, though he was sure it was futile, began turning the wheel hard left.

No sooner had the wheel locked meaning the rudder was hard over, the AA gunners opened fire on the incoming torpedo planes. Josh was pleased to see three of them go down and one pull away, but the last one kept coming. Then, a burst of fire struck the aircraft. As the engine began to burn, the torpedo dropped and began speeding towards the battleship. The plane then rolled inverted and crashed into the bay. Josh grabbed the PA again.

"Torpedo incoming! All hands brace for impact!"

At that moment, a destroyer, the _Ginia_, sailed blindly alongside the battleship and right into the torpedo's path. The captain of the destroyer threw the engines into reverse; too late. The torpedo struck the destroyer midship and the explosion lifted the small destroyer escort out of the water and ripped it in half. Shrapnel peppered the starboard side of the battleship including sending a piece of the radio mast through the lower section of the bridge.

Josh recovered and glance down at the base of the tower bridge and saw the base of the radio mast sticking out and saw the remains of the _Ginia_ sinking. Around the sinking hull were men and women swimming frantically for the larger ship. He quickly turned to the helmsman.

"All stop! Sound rescue, we've got sailors in the water!"

Immediately, the telegraph was brought to the STOP position and the crew on the deck tossed lifelines and even launched some lifeboats to the swimming crew.

Josh watched the rescue get underway when he heard a loud screaming from above. Looking up he saw an enemy plane coming in fast and begin strafing the water and walked the bullets across the surface and struck the main group of swimmers and also riddled two of the wooden lifeboats.

"Dammit! Somebody get those people out of the water! Gunners! Any enemy tries that again, you put enough lead in him to make him clank when he walks through the gates of Hell! And somebody tell me why the hell our heavy AA's have stopped firing!"

"Heavy gunnery stations fifteen through twenty-six damaged by shrapnel from the _Ginia_! All others are out of ammo!"

"Sir! Up there! Radar's painting several inbound targets making a beeline for shore!"

Josh took out some binoculars and looked in the area of the radar sweep and cursed.

"Send a wire to the interceptors: high level bombers heading inland towards the city! They're going after the civilians! Also send word to our ships nearby to prepare to assist in the event we have to abandon ship. If any more of those red lights go on we may just have to."

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Dieter Muntz looked upon the bomber tactics with disgust. The rules of engagement regarding air force targets were simple: military targets first and foremost, secondary targets were financial and manufacturing infrastructure. According to the Laws of Air Combat established one year after the death of Gregory Dalon and the destruction of the sea fortress _Poseidon_, civilian targets such as homes, schools, and hospitals were off limits. This 'big wing' carpet bombing stratagy was going to level everything.

Yet, despite his family's prominent standing and his military rank, he had no say in the tactics of the bomber wings. His sole responsibility was to his squadron, to even consider going against tactics the high command personally approved was considered treason. He caught movement and saw one of his wingmen signal for him.

"Squadron 215 switch radios to frequency 115." As he made the switch, the voice of one of his wingmen came over.

"_Lieutenant! Sir, are we really okay with this? I mean, I'll follow our orders but, why is command picking a fight with Syllia when we have our hands full elsewhere?"_

"Belay that talk Jyne, this frequency may be dedicated to us but it is in no way secure. Regardless of our feelings towards the mission, the objective is the same: protect the bombers and eliminate the fighters who climb to engage."

_"Speaking of which sir, I've got eyes on several bluebirds coming up. Looks like someone saw us coming in. I count twenty, twenty-five, thirty or more fighters coming up._"

"Confirmed, all right Jaeger Squadron, let's go hunting."

Dieter kicked the controls to his Toryu F-10 into a rolling dive and angled the plane to intercept the enemy.

_(Now we see if the designs we have are as superior to the Syllians as the propaganda ministry says.)_

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Reyson heard the radio broadcast and immediately pitched up toward the carrier-based bombers, and also saw several fighters break away and seeing them begin to dive, he keyed the radio and issued the engagement order.

"Tally-ho on the bandits. Multiple CVB's and CVF's inbound. Looks like some of them want to dance. Blue-Two, you and your group have the ones of the left, Blue-Three, you and yours take the right. Baker, Svenson, Barden, you lot are with me flying right down the middle."

_"Sir, 115 squadron and 116 squadron have joined us; 76 squadron and 91 squadron are continuing towards the bombers."_

Reyson gave a quick confirmation and then angled his plane at the enemy in front of him and pressed the trigger. The P-25's four machineguns opened up and tracers arced their way up towards the enemy plane. Apparently the enemy pilot didn't expect the range of the machineguns to be that great as the guns peppered the plane's engine, wings and also painted the canopy red. The plane sputtered smoke, turned and went down toward the ground, slamming into the now vacant docks on the south harbor.

One of their own going down was a wake up call for the others as they turned and began evasive maneuvers. Reyson got on the tail of another and lined up the sights, pressed the trigger and sent another enemy plunging into the harbor. As he lined up on another, he heard his radio key in.

_"Blue-Seven you've got two on your tail! Move! Move!"_

_ "I-I can't shake them! I don't know what planes those are but they're matching me move for move."_

_ "Hang in there Burwell, help's on the way."_

Reyson saw his wingman, Blue-Two, get behind Blue-Seven's pursuers and opened fire, bullets riddling one of the two with holes. In response, the other opened up on Blue-Seven and Reyson felt his heart drop as he saw smoke start pouring from the engine.

"Blue-Seven you've got smoke! Bail out! Bail out!"

_"I can't! The canopy's stuck, I- Oh God! I've got an oil leak, I've- Gah! Fire! Fire in the cockpit!"_

"Blue-Two, Blue-Four, get that bastard off Blue-Seven, he's not letting him bail!"

At that moment, another Rotarian plane came in and fire a short burst which struck the locking bolt on Blue-Seven's cockpit and sent the canopy flying away from the plane. Then the radio keyed and a strange voice came through.

_"Attention Syllian aircraft Blue-Seven, this is Lieutenant Dieter Muntz of the Rotarian Grand Air Aggressor Force. I have instructed the plane engaging you to break off so that you may bail out. If you are curious as to why I would care, I cannot in good consience allow an honorable pilot to burn to death."_

Wasting no time, Reyson keyed the mike.

"Lieutenant Muntz, this is Commander Reyson Havvers of the Syllian Royal Air Force. I thank you for the mercy but must ask as to why attack us?"

_"I cannot claim to know the minds of my commanders and generals. All I was told is that to remove Syllia from the equation was of utmost importance if my nation was to survive. I have said what needed to be said."_

The radio clicked off meaning the enemy oficer had changed frequencies. Reyson saw the enemy pilot dogging Blue-Seven had indeed backed off and that the burst the other plane fired had enabled Burwell to bail out. The white parachute signalling he had made it and he splashed down safely into the harbor. A PT boat was there a moment later to fish him out of the water. Reyson's squadron meanwhile had returned to the fight and were able to maneuver behind the enemy planes better than they had expected. Further along, the fighters intercepting the bombers were knocking them out of the sky left and right. So far only three bombers had made it over the city. Reyson shot fown another plane and then heard a report coming over his radio.

_"This is Admiral Charles Breaker, Commander of the Sanijo Naval Defence Fleet. We are now organized and are preparing to engage the enemy ships currently out at sea. Any aircraft not currently in the air or otherwise engaged are hereby ordered to fly combat air patrol around the fleet so as to avoid any surprises."_

_"Uh, Admiral? Sir, I don't mean to steal your thunder sir but we're just recieved one hell of a surprise. According to radio traffic, the Rotarian Fleet is issueing a retreat notice. Their outlying escorts have come under fire from unknown vessels."_

_ "Hmm...we don't have any vessels out there do we? No subs or PTs or anything like that?"_

_ "No sir, according to the chatter, the attacks are coming from cruiser and capital class sized ships."_

_ "Radar point Scout 11 reporting in! Multiple blips on radar, scout planes reporting seeing aircraft with blue and grey markings. No record of that insignia is in our books."_

At that moment, a plane with those same markings flew across Reyson's flight path and began engaging a Rotiart squadron attempting to strafe a PT boat shadowing an AA destroyer.

"This is Blue-One, I have eyes on unknowns. My God, it's a Typhoon H-1! That's a Federation Carrier-launched fighter plane! I see ten, no wait, twenty H-1's and they're engaging the Rotarian aircraft! Can someone try opening communications to the Federation?"

At that moment, a new voice echoed over the radio, a Tellanos accent was undeniable.

_"No need for that Commander Havvers. This is Admiral Joseph Ball, on board the _TFNV Rogue_. We are launching aircraft to assist in the expulsion of the enemy. I think you should know, this same group is responsible for the sinking of the fleet that was __**supposed**__to meet with yours as well as a similar bombing against the port city of Gallinst. While I shall explain more fully after this engagement is over, I ask that no Syllian planes mistake our fighters for enemies."_

"Understood Admiral, all Federation planes are hereby declared friendly."

_"This is _TFNV Wicker_. Enemy planes coming in on attack run, _Rogue _and_ Valiant_ CAP is gone,all we have left is the _Gallahad_ requesting air support."_

_"This is Longbow, the nuggets and my squadron are closest. We'll assist. Also requesting back-up from 227 Squadron."_

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Bertram whistled as he saw the Federation fleet from above. In the distance he saw fifteen Hale-class destroyers, ten Vectrin-class light cruisers, three Hode-class battlecruisers, and two D'Arc-class battleships engaging the enemy fleet. Broken away from the fleet and launching wave after wave of aircraft were three Galahad IV-class carriers protected by five Obelisk-class AA destroyers.

The array was impressive but flawed, all the ships with the exception of the carriers and the AA destroyers were technically obsolete and now that two of the three carriers had launched the majority of their fighters, these fast but lightly armored destroyers were the only significant defence the fleet had against incoming aircraft; and though it appeared the Admiral of the fleet had endeavored to keep his carriers and AA destroyers out of ship-to-ship combat, they were still in range of the enemy carrier's strike planes.

After the war against Dalon, his father had retired from being Syllia's sole mechanist and had begun training those who had a gift with machinery, thought outside of the box, and also had a mind to make people's lives better. Two of his first and most promising students, brothers Xavier and Albert Reed, had taken what they knew to the Federation and used it to bring the newest of Syllia's allies into a 'golden age'. Xavier focused on civilian machines, Albert was a more military minded individual and spent the intervening years modernizing the Federation military.

Seeing motion to his right, he looked and spotted a glimpse of the Rotiart attack aircraft.

"This is Gold-One, I've got eyes on the enemy. Fifteen torpedo bombers heading for the Federation fleet. Looks like they're targeting the battleship and cruisers shielding the carriers."

_"Gold-Three here, more up high, looks like dive-bombers. I lost count after fifty."_

_ "This is Admiral Ball, I'm ordering evasive maneuvers and all hands to AA stations."_

_ "Gold-One, your squadron and mine will engage the torpedo-bombers, 227 Squadron, engage the dive-bombers."_

"Gold-One, I'm in range. Engaging."

Bertram lined up the sights on the closest torpedo-bomber and pressed the triger, feeling the vibrations as his guns opened up and riddled the enemy plane with holes. What shocked Bertram however was how easily the bullets ripped through the enemy plane. In the three seconds he held the trigger the bullets ripped through the plane and a second later the right wing and entire tail section ripped away sending the plane plummeting.

"Gold-One here, did anyone else see that? My bullets went through the plane like it was paper!"

_"Longbow here. I was curious about that myself, now I know why. How do you make a plane designed for a ground runway take off of a carrier? The answer: strip everything that is nonessential. That means armor, most of the weapons, and anything else that increases weight. It seems they only have one forward facing gun for defence and their torpedoes._

"Copy that, moving to next target."

_"Gold-One look out! You've got a tail! A tail!"_

Bertram looked behind him and saw and enemy fighter, a carrier-launched , closing fast and firing its guns wildly. He rolled to evade but the enemy stayed right on his tail and fired again. The sight of the bullets striking his left wing made Bertram kick the rudder hard right and force the plane into yet another roll. The enemy repeated again and fired again, this time the bullets struck his right wing. Bertram keyed the radio as he went into a triple roll.

"I can't shake him! Requesting assistance!"

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Okay everyone, here is Chapter 1 of World Fury. So, the enemy is identified, an ally is incoming and Bertram seems to be in a bit of a pickle. Who will come to his aid? Find out next time. As always, please review and/or PM me. Anyway, once again, sorry about my tendency to be long-winded. I'll try to have the next chapter out soon.


	3. Bury Your Dead

Hello everyone! Well, he's the second half of the chapter I promised you was the first. Although I ahve to say I apologize for the delay. As the old radio DJs always said 'the hits keep on coming'. The case is the same with me. A routine trip to town to get some crawfish got interesting when the fuel pump on my truck seized. I was out of action for a week but I'm back now.

Anyway, enough about me, onto the disclaimer.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 2: Bury Your Dead

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Bertram looked behind him and saw enemy fighter closing again and lining up another burst. He rolled again and went into a split 'S' curve to evade but the enemy pilot simply led him on the turn and fired at him yet again. Bertram dove at the last moment and saw tracers flash by the canopy and one or two rounds glance off the engine. He picked up the dropped radio and called for assistance again.

"This is Gold-One, enemy plane is still on my tail and he is matching me move for move. I can't shake him no matter what I try. Can anyone assist?"

The plane closed again and was now so close that Bertram could see into the cockpit and saw the pilot pulling the charging handle on his guns. If he didn't evade this burst it was going to be the end of him. As he began to evade, a burst of flak from below caught the enemy plane in the fuselage. Whether by pure dumb luck or chance, the flak burst hit the plane's fuel tank. The result was a brilliant fireball that momentarily blinded Bertram. When his sight cleared, what was left of the enemy plane was a streaking mass of burning metal falling into the sea. As he wiped the sweat from his brow, he heard the radio crackle to life.

_"Hey baby brother, sorry about the delay in speaking to you! Are you alright?" _The familiar voice brought a smile to Bertram.

"Hey Josh! Yeah, I'm okay; thanks for saving my tail, w-wait a second! Where are you?"

_"Look down."_

Bertram tilted a wing over and saw a group of six Interceptor-class destroyers making steam towards the Federation fleet. The lead destroyer was easily going 29 knots. It was on this destroyer that he noticed the signal lights on the bridge were flashing.

_"The _Prince Obël _is sunk. Water over-whelmed the pumps and she settled in the harbor. I was on the last lifeboat to leave and once I got to shore, the port commander placed me in command of a destroyer that lost its Captain and XO in the early stages of the attack. Our mission is to provide an extra escort for the Federation's carriers while their combat ships bloody the enemy's nose for them. Now then, if you'll excuse me, I must radio the Admiral."_

Bertram smiled and then went back to pursuing the torpedo-bombers. Through his radio, he heard his brother make his announcement. He couldn't help but smile with pride and also think of what father would say when he heard the news.

_"Attention Federation fleet, this is Ensign Joshua de Launces, commander of the _RNV Interceptor, _DD-10. We and five other destroyers are to bolster your AA shield."_

_ "Copy that _Interceptor. _We thank you for your assistance._"

Bertam lined up another bead and fired, dropping another torpedo-bomber and continuing onto another. The fact that his brother was no longer on board a burning ship somehow gave him not only a sigh of relief, but also lit a fiery determination that not one of these Rotarian bastards was going to get close to his brother's ship or his charges. Noticing the dive bombers change course, he radioed his brother.

"Josh! The enemy dive bombers are changing course and heading for you. I'll get behind them and rattle their cages."

_"_Interceptor _copies. All hands to anti-air stations!_"

Sirens on board the destroyers began sounding and the AA stations fired tracers and flak shells into the air. The dive bombers, apparently not expecting such a quick response, continued on course and made easy targets for the destroyer force's AA gunners. The enemt wing flew straight into the AA fire and were obliterated before Bertram could even line up a shot.

As Bertram turned away from the carnage, he saw the remaining enemy planes disengage and begin returning to the Rotiart fleet which was making full speed to try and escape the Federation and Syllian fleets. The enemy destroyers were laying down a thick smokescreen and were also dropping mines, launching torpedo spreads, and firing cannon salvos to cover the carriers and battleships. A second later, he heard Reyson on the radio.

_"The enemy is in retreat, all planes without anti-ship armaments are to return to base at once. Leave the mop-up to the Navy. Gold Squadron, this means you especially."_

Bertram recognized Reyson's tone of voice and decided it would be best to do as he said. He just knew he was going to get an earfull once Reyson landed.

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The scene at the airport as Bertram, Ayatane, and Jake landed was one of pure chaos. Fires were blazing everywhere, the twisted and burning wreckage of strafed and crashed planes littered the ground. As Bertram jumped down from the wing of his plane, his foot kicked an engine component of a blown up P-29 that was being cleared away nearby.

Of the fifteen hangars at the airfield, only two remained in relatively safe condition. The air control tower was a heap of stone and metal rubble, the still-burning fuel truck nearby. The view from the airfield, once so spectacular, was now a vision of carnage. Close to where Bertram had seen it last, the _Prince Obël_ sat level in the water, a light steam and smoke trail coming from her destroyed funnels, the waves of the bay washing her deck, scouring away the blood and bodies of the men and women who had died upon her decks as she had been strafed time and again.

A capsized battleship lay near the moorings, men scrambling over her hull with cutting torches trying to rescue men still trapped inside. A small fire dragon from the local Dracocorps wing landed near them in the shallower part of the water and began using its fire element to cut the hull open. The wreckage of five destroyers, three battlecruisers, six battleships, two submarines, and one escort carrier filled the harbor and the bodies of countless men and women, military and civilian alike, stained the once crystal clear waters red. Patrol boats were sailing quickly from once said of the harbor to the other trying to find survivors still in the water. Worse of all was the occasional gunshot as sailors in the boats shot at sharks trying to enter the harbor looking for easy prey. Worse was the view of the city. Despite the best efforts of the fighters in the air, enemy bombers still managed to reach the city and several buildings were burning and sirens wailed throughout the city.

The radio continually came through with pleading requests for assistance fighting fires and helping trapped civilians and soldiers, Bertram vaguely heard a radio reply stating that help was on the way. He looked up and saw the Sanijo Home Wing of the Dracocorps circling, looking for a place they might be needed. Ice dragons began creating a barrier at the mouth of the harbor to keep sharks from entering. Water dragons dove into the water to patrol underneath. Electric and Lightning dragons landed on shore and worked with the people to restore power to the hospitals, fire and police stations, and other vital buildings. As Bertram began to head towards the airfield's damage control team, a young man wearing an officer's uniform from the Harbor Patrol Port Authority came running up towards the now landed pilots. The airfield officer came up as well looking in askance of what he was doing here. The man panted for a moment, out of breath and then looked up at the pilots and crew gathered around.

"We-We've got people trapped and wounded everywhere in the city and in the harbor. We need help from anyone you can spare or anyone that can move."

The air officer motioned for a truck to drive over and motioned for several men to climb in, including Jake and Ayatane. When Bertram moved to get in, the air officer shook his head.

"Bertram, you're needed here. A group from the Dracocorps is landing here, I'm placing you in charge of cleaning the airfield up. God knows we'll need all the runways working once the planes begin to return."

"In command? But sir, I'm only a Sergeant! Surely there are those higher ranked than me?"

"Speak to Reyson when he lands. As for your rank, all those above you are either, dead, injured, or occupied elsewhere. Alright, let's go!"

The truck started off with a roar, Bertram turned to see the maintenance sergeant come up and salute him.

"Sir! Work detail is assembled and awaiting your orders!" Bertram nodded slowly and took a breath.

"Commander said to get the runways clear, that's what we're going to do. Focus on clearing the runways and putting out fires. Put any wounded you find in Hangar 3, at least they'll be out of the smoke. As for fatalities, place them in Hangar 10."

"Yes, sir! Alright men you heard him, hop to it!"

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(a few hours later)

Bertram stood at attention in the base commander's office. Reyson stood before him, his face that infamous Havvers shade of red. His face streaked with dirt and oil. The base commander stood nearby, his dress uniform ruined beyond all repair by the smoke, blood, oil, and dirt from the search through the city. Bertram's only comfort was that his brother, Josh, was beside him and looking just as bedraggled as the rest of them. The only sound other than the machinery outside clearing the airfield was the ticking of a clock that somehow hadn't been knocked off the wall during the attack. Just as the silence was becoming unbearable, Reyson spoke to Bertram.

"Are you out of your _bloody_ mind?! Disobeying my order to stay grounded, breaking away from your wingman without authorization, engaging enemy planes close to allied ships, and _don't_ get me _started_ about that damn hot-dogging stunt you pulled while I was engaging those bombers! Oh yes, I heard about that. Flying low over the water engaging torpedo bombers in their runs as well as shooting torpedoes in the water in an attempt to save more ships, by the way, you're damned lucky you didn't hit anyone who was treading water. You displayed reckless abandon, willful disregard for orders given. If you were _anyone_ else, if you had performed one _iota_ less efficiently, or made _one_ mistake you would have been stripped of your rank and sent home with a dishonorable discharge. All in all, you are just as reckless as your father and I were when we were your age."

Bertram momentarily let his jaw drop at the complement at the tail end of the chewing-out before standing back at attention. Reyson nodded and, having delivered his rebuke, allowed the red color to fade and lifted a radio transcript and began reading from it.

"Sergeant Bertram Jaques de Launces of the Syllian Royal Air Force, these radio conversations and gun camera marks indicate that you shot down at least fifteen confirmed enemy kills and seven unconfirmed kills. Your actions, though reckless, provided enough of a shield that your brother's destroyer, the _RNV Interceptor_, suffered no damage while at dock other than the Captain and XO being strafed while running to their ship, as well as saving two cruisers and one battleship form being torpedoed. Once your brother took command of her, the _Interceptor_ engaged and destroyed a total of twenty-seven enemy planes trying to dive bomb Federation carriers and torpedo Syllian battleships. For your actions under fire I am hereby promoting you to the rank of Lieutenant and assigning you an official squadron number. Your squadron will also recieve promotions but that's not why I called you here. I've recieved word your father is coming here to inspect the damage as is your mother who is coming to make sure the two of you are alright."

Bertram allowed a smile to show as Reyson finished. He looked at his brother.

"Well Josh, looks like we're the same rank now." At that moment, Reyson turned again, a mischievious smile on his face.

"Actually, Bertram, your brother has been promoted too. His actions to save the _Prince Obël_ and later his actions on the _Interceptor_ got him noticed by the port commander. Josh is now officially in command of the _Interceptor_ and has been promoted to Lieutenant-Commander." Bertram stared aghast at his brother who chuckled lightly.

"Don't worry baby brother, some day you might just outrank me. Just not today."

The noise of a plane outside got their attention and Reyson looked out the window. A large four engine TP-25 Transport was landing on the runway. Reyson chuckled to himself.

"Well, speak of the devil. Alright you two, dismissed!"

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As the motion of the plane stopped and his aide opened the door, James de Launces, Archduke of Syllia, Lord of Launces, the Dragon Mechanist, and several other titles he didn't bother with (or couldn't remember), stepped out of the plane and surveyed the area and gazed with a sorrowful look at the city below. Being of dragon heritage meant he didn't age like humans did. However, enough of him was human that he had started to have grey streaks in his hair denoting his age. Yet despite this, he still stood tall and had that same piercing gaze from his miscolored eyes. One eye was a deep sapphire blue while the other was a vibrant silver.

He wore his old military uniform with his retired rank of Lord General on his shoulders. He leaned on a cane due to injuries recieved in his youth (primarily being shot in the same leg three or four times ove the course of his career). As his wife, Lyseerah de Launces exited the plane next, the door to the commander's office opened and out came their youngest sons, Josh and Bertram. Behind them stood James' old friend Reyson Havvers. Lysa came forward and embraced her sons as though she had though she had lost them. As he looked over the city again, Reyson came up to him.

"They caught us with our pants down James. One moment Bertram was about to win the air race and the next he's shooting down Rotarian aircraft over the harbor. It's thanks to Josh we got an advance warning. The _Prince Obël_ was the only ship to survive the first ambush and it just barely made it back here to warn us." James sighed and nodded.

"How bad was it?" Reyson gave him a piece of paper, an after-action report. The numbers he saw made him sick to his stomach.

"See for yourself. Over four-thousand dead, military and civilian. Twice that wounded or maimed. We lost five destroyers, three battlecruisers, six battleships, two submarines, and one escort carrier and numerous other civilian and support ships here in port as well as eighty percent of our air force, roughly four-hundred fifty planes. The south-west defence now has a hole the size of Gojani's stomach and we can't patrol that much land and sea without reinforcements from other air districts."

James allowed himself to chuckle at the joke about the SW region Dracocorps wing leader before turning a sad gaze to the city again.

"We recieved word that Rotiart was planning something but I didn't know what. Intelligence was vague and we had little to no proof that they were up to something. I'm curious but also worried. What could Rotiart hope to achieve by declaring war on Syllia and invading the Federation? It doesn't make sense." Reyson looked at him with a shocked expression.

"Invaded? Rotiart has invaded the Federation?" James nodded.

"At roughly the same time as the raid here was taking place, some two million soldiers of the Rotiart Grand Army blitzed across the Federation border. The Tellanos Federal Army was caught off guard and they've already penetrated one-hundred miles into Federation territory. Tellanos mounted a counter attack and managed to stop Rotiart just outside of the city of Ursa. The Tellanian council has requested assistance from Syllia in this matter and the King agreed. As of...1200 hours today, we have allied with the Federation. The Royal 10th Army along with the 435th Armored Division should have reached Ursa by now. An official declaration of war is slated for tomorrow." Reyson thought for a moment then looked at James.

"The 435th Rainmakers? Doesn't Nick lead a tank battalion in that division?" James nodded.

"As Captain, he is in charge of ten LT-24-AP's , fifteen MT-29-C's, six MT-18-AP's, four HT-27-C's and three AT-18's. He commands one of the HT-27's and I know that it's one of the best tanks I've built yet I can't help but worry." Reyson laughed.

"Don't worry, you said the armor on an HT-27 could stop an 60mm shell easily. If memory serves, the 60mm is the standard for Rotiart technology. They haven't had the time nor the materials to design a new field gun."

"I suppose not, but still, as a father I worry. At least nothing is going on in Avalon at the moment. Perhaps when I get the chance I'll head down there for a few days. It has been some time since I've seen Thera and the grandkids." Reyson laughed again and cuffed James on the shoulder as his father, the late Jonathan Havvers, often did.

"Yeah, gramps, you need to see the grandkids every once in a while so you can spoil them. Hah...damn. I wonder what Dad would say if he were here." At the mention of Jonathan Havvers, James remembered when he'd recieved word that the airship Havvers was on had gone down in the mountains of Northumbria roughly three years ago. The crash of the _Hyperion_ had been one of the defining reasons airships were never built en masse. Though the technology behind them was sound there were still too many problems.

"He'd probably say something along the lines of 'if you're knocked on your ass, get right back up and knock the other son-of-a-bitch of _his_ ass and see how _he_ likes it'."

"Amazing how many situations that one piece of advice could fit to." James nodded.

"According to the last letter from Thera, her youngest, Ryu, really takes the advice and stories of us she tells him to heart. He doesn't let any other dragons at the school bully him and he was advanced by Terrador into the Advanced Combat classes."

"Alright then James. By the way, your sons have something you might want to hear. As for me, I'm off to see if I can get Gojani to send a few wings here to bolster our numbers. I doubt the tub of lard would do anything if it didn't benefit him in some way."

"Just mention something about Home Wing evaluations and he'll snap to. At least with the other wing leaders under his command all you have to mention is that we are at war and they'll jump at the chance to do something. If not, contact Shimmer or Zakwell and they'll straighten him out."

"Yes, sir. Well, wish me luck."

Reyson saluted James, a mere formality, then turned and walked off to the radio room. James on the other hand, walked to where his sons and wife were, curious as to why the two of them were beaming. Then, turning and looking in the distance, he saw a ship steaming into the harbor and taking off from the deck were several dragons of many different scale colors and hues. Most notably, leading the group were four dragons: two females and two males. One female had black and magenta scales, the male behind and to the right had red and orange scales, the other female had silver scales and was hurrying into the port. Leading the formation was a dragon whose scales shown purple and gold in the sun. James smiled weakly at the formation incoming and turned back to Lysa and his sons.

"I guess we won't have to charter a ship to Avalon after all."

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(meanwhile, fifteen miles outside of Ursa, a major city in the Tellanos Federation)

Nick gritted his teeth as the HT-27 rolled over yet another abandoned Federation trench. Through his periscope, he sighed as he surveyed the devestation around him. His battalion was on point trying to find the Federation force they were _supposed_ to be meeting here. If the intelligence was correct, they should have met them ten minutes ago. Scowling, he checked his map again and rechecked his coordinates.

"Let's see...X: 055, Y: 229. Thirty minutes south-by-southwest of Ursa...hmmm." He keyed his mike on his radio.

"Now hear this: All tanks make ready. We should have met with our allies by now but we haven't seen them. Load your guns in case we meet Rotiart forces."

A chorus of confirmations echoed through his headset as he clicked on his own tank's radio.

"Okay guys, if any of you somehow managed to get some sleep on the way here, now's the time to wake up. Briggs, make sure the tank has enough room to accelerate to full speed should we have to engage Rotiart forces." He then turned to the gunner in the turret with him.

"Mac, load the 65mm and make sure the motor runs smoothly, I don't want the turret to sieze in the middle of a firefight." At that moment, the loader and co-axil gunner came up.

"Jakes, Victor, man your stations. Eh, Jakes? Why is a damn salami in the gun barrel?"

"Only way to keep it cool sir. The Federation winter is almost as cold as Northumbrian winter. The iron gun barrel makes a great refrigerator. It's either salami sandwiches or C-rations and hard-tack."

"I'd sooner eat my boots than C-rations but still, get that overblown summer sausage out of the tank barrel, this is an armored vehicle, not a pantry. I don't care that you trained at the Royalis Culinary School, you are a soldier now and you will act like one, at least when we're in a battle zone. Oh and before I forget Victor, no eating it. I don't want to be smelling your salami farts in an enclosed space, especially with Michael's smoking habit. You'll blow us higher than a kite at Skyfort." As the crew laughed at the joke, Nick turned back to the periscope.

_(Like father always says, a good laugh is a great way to loosen tension. The way these guys are wound, they'd likely snap at the first sign of danger and that could get them and others killed. I know them so well now they're like an extended family. Hell, the whole damn division is my extended family. All the more reason to see them home alive.)_

"Hey Captain? I see smoke ahead. Looks to be about three miles out."

Before Nick could reply, a loud whistling noise was heard, followed by an explosion and the sound of something large and made of metal stopping and falling to pieces. Nick swiveled the periscope and gawked at what he saw. One of the LT-24's had been blown apart by a high speed shell of some sort. The twisted wreckage blazed with flames and Nick could see the outline of the three crewmen inside the tank, burning, and obviously dead from the impact. As he looked away, a series of whistles came through punctuated by several explosions. As he saw one of the AT-18's take a direct hit, veer off to the side and go nose first into a trench before exploding. Nick grabbed the radio and yelled the first thing that came to mind.

"Ambush! Prepare for battle!"

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Whew! Okay everyone, second chapter is here and ready for your eyes to enjoy. Now then, I am sure you all are wondering what I'm doing by leaving a cliffhanger here, well don't worry that will soon be revealed. Plus, as for the tank designations: LT stands for Light Tank, MT is for Medium Tank, and HT is for, you guessed it, Heavy Tank. Also there is an AT designation for Assault Tank or as they are more well known as 'tank-killers'.

Now the letters behind them denote what that tanks purpose is. For example, Nick's tank is an HT-27-C, meaning it front line Combat model of the HT-27. A tank with 'S' is for Scouting, and 'AP' means the tank is dedicated to an anti-infantry role. Now then, next chapter will bring the de Launces family together in Launces, including Spyro, Cynder, and an introduction to the grandkids.

Also, I am working on a tech guide for those of ya'll who want to see where I got the ideas for the weapons and machines used in the story. PM me if you'd like me to post it when it's complete either as an add-on to the story or a stand-alone one-shot.

Next time: A Shattered World


	4. A Shattered World

Hi everyone! Okay, once again we go into the breach. So be ready for a whopper. Ack! No! Izzy! Down girl I didn't mean a LITERAL whopper! Gah!

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This is what I get for feeding my dog Burger King scraps...

Anyways, onto the story.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 3: A Shattered World

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Spyro waited patiently in the council room watching with mingled pride and exhasperation at human politics. One the one paw, his daughter-in-law Magothera was handling herself quite well as ambassador of Avalon. On the other paw, even with her father, James de Launces, and her two younger brothers Josh and Bertram lending their voices, the human council and senate didn't want to budge. Ignitus lay nearby and gazed at Thera with a worried expression and didn't hear whatever was said, but its effect on James was instant. His face grew red and he gripped the bannister with near-draconic strength, he heard the wood cracking and creaking under his grip.

"We do _not_ have time for this senseless bickering! The fact remains that we have been attacked! Four-thousand dead or missing and twice that wounded! The King, mind you, pledged to support the Tellanians and you jackasses belay that order because of the bad blood that existed between us for the past few centuries?! I had thought we were past all that! I honestly don't know whether I'm more shocked that you lot allow such petty grievences to cloud your judgement or that you dared to veto a declaration of war signed by the King and several of his Generals, myself included!"

A rather rotund man, Samuel Kropp, leaned back in his chair and sneered at James.

"First off, _milord_, you may be Archduke of Syllia now, but remember that even you can be outvoted on this matter and stripped of whatever 'pull' you _think_ you have. A declaration of war is a national matter. You and for that matter, the King, cannot simply give one of our longest standing enemies one of our most powerful armies and expect us, the civilian and merchant council to not even bat an eye. They may be soldiers but they are _our_ sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives. You have no right-"

"I bloody well have the right! Do you think you're honoring their choice to serve their country if you veto a bill that will allow us to aid an ally? If the Tellanians do not recieve aid and they fall to a expansionist enemy, we will have lost face with the world government. Praetoria, Anozira, Espan, Avalon, even our protectorates may turn against us! Is this what you want?"

Kropp laughed nasely and looked down at James and his daughter.

"Praetoria is in the middle of the worst recession they've ever suffered. According to the reports there is open revolt in the streets. The Praetorian military is occupied trying to restore order to their crumbling empire. They've already had to grant their buffer states: Espan and Anozira, their independance because of this and I suspect that without Imperial aid, we may yet have two new territories to declare as 'protectorates'. As for the Blue Isles and Northumbria, is they revolt, we crack the whip at them. Place them under martial law, and as for _Avalon_. Perhaps we may stop thinking of them as an independant realm and start thinking of them as a southern territory of the Crown."

Thera snarled at this, as did Spyro, Ignitus, and the dragons on the military council. For all his bluster, the sight of several dragons growling specifically at _him_, forced the rotund wind bag to retract his statement and return to his seat. As Kropp sat down, a merchant councilman stood.

"Lord de Launces, please restrain the dragons so that Lord Kropp doesn't topple over from apoplexy. What he said was out of turn, yes, but still, this declaration means we have sent ten percent of our military might into a nation that if they wanted to, could declare us an invading threat and still bring about ruin." James took a deep breath and stared at the merchant.

"Why and to what end would they do this? They are _already_ being invaded by Rotiart. We have been _attacked_ by Rotiart! You lot have not seen the devastation wrought in Sanijo; I have. My sons were in the thick of the attack fighting off enemies from sea and air and distinguished themselves. If not for the Federation fleet intervening when they did, I have no doubt the casualties would have been much, much greater." The merchant nodded.

"Indeed, we have all see the reports that the Federation fleet happened along and assisted. But think, according to an officer on board a battleship engaging this 'Rotiart Fleet', their ships bore a striking resemblance to Federation and Callinar naval vessels. There is no proof whatsoever that Rotiart was responsible. In fact, we have recieved a letter from the Chancellor of Rotiart stating that he has made no aggressive actions at all and that this is simply a Federation ploy to get you to help them conquer Rotiart so that they may have only one possible threat left on this continent: us." James snarled at how it was obvious what the outcome would be. Ignoring him, the councilor continued.

" I believe there is an old saying we all know: 'The devil you know is better than the devil you don't,' I believe is how it goes. Rotiart has shown us their hand so they are the devil we know. However, the Federation has undergone massive reform in the past few years, in no small part thanks to those two brothers you trained as mechanists and then allowed them to return home to the Federation. Tellanos is the unknown here. Until we recieve irrefutable proof that this request for aid is genuine, our soldiers stay put."

James sighed, knowing that this was one brick wall he couldn't plow through. On his throne in front of him, James cousin King Edward, sat crestfallen. Beside him, Edward's wife, Queen Anita, a native of Praetoria and granddaughter to the Empress, fumed at what was said about her beloved homeland. James looked from the King and Queen to the council. He spoke in a clear and calm voice that made everyone listen. It was a complete reversal from the hellfire and brimstone he was unloading just a few moments ago. Again he knew what the outcome would be, but if it secured support for an ally against an aggressor, he had to try _something_, say _anything_.

"Gentlemen, I will ask you once more: will you withdraw your veto?" As one, the merchant and civilian councils shouted 'No!' He looked down.

"Then I shall no longer waste my breath. All I have to say is this: If you are wrong, and I am right about this, then you have signed the death warrant for the Federation, and you have opened the door for an enemy that we may have to face alone. Just remember this: In times of invasion and times of war, everyone, from the highest noble, the wealthiest merchant, to the lowest and poorest commoner will be called to take up arms. _That_ is one thing that no amount of political bullshit can stop or stall. I just pray that there will be no need for that to happen. I bid you all good day."

At that moment, a wide-eyed messenger came running into the proccedings. James looked at the messenger as he stopped before him and took a steadying breath.

"Milord, the 435th has returned to Royalis with their wounded. I-I must inform you sir that your son, Captain George Nicholas de Launces is among the wounded-"

Thera, Josh, Bertram, and Lysa bolted from the room. James eyed the messenger sternly.

"Where is he?"

"Royalis General, sir, being treated for a concussion, some shrapnel injuries and a few minor burns. I have the after action report here."

James looked over the report with a swift eye then motioned for the report to be handed to the King and he left the podium and took off after his family. Spyro and Ignitus followed him. James heard the announcement speakers turn on as Edward cleared his throat. What he had to say had to be for everyone's ears, not just the councils.

_"At 1425 hours two days ago, elements of the 435th Armored Corps, on a reinforcement mission to the Tellanos city of Ursa, led by Captain George Nicholas de Launces, encountered a hostile enemy force using captured Federation weapons and vehicles. The 435th were engaged in a short battle, lasting some three hours, but were ultimately forced to retreat."_

James passed some castle servants who had dropped what they were doing to listen to the King's address.

_"The rumors have been confirmed: Rotiart has invaded Tellanos and as of midnight last night, the Federation city of Ursa is now under Rotiart occupation and their forces now threaten the Tellanian capital city of Retorinc. Furthermore, a report from one of our submarines, A-22, indicates that the Callinar Island Nations have taken advantage of the choas and have begun invading the islands south of Tellanos and have launched a simultaneous attack on the Blue Islands protectorate._

Castle guards stood sharply at attention as he passed them. Several of them he recognized as wearing the uniforms of Blue Islands guardsmen. As he neared the exit to the castle, the King's speech continued.

_"As of this moment, I am overruling the council's veto of the declaration of war against Rotiart and I am expanding it to encompass the Callinar Islands as well. All citizens from nobles to commoners must submit draft cards to the recruiters of the branch of service they wish to join. When their cards are called, I expect all to report for duty. This message will be transmitted to all cities in Syllia itself and our protectorates at 3:00 P.M. today: eastern standard time."_

James looked at his pocketwatch and saw that it was now 2:30 P.M. Outside, he found his family waiting. Bertram was getting into the car along with the family steward, Victor, against the protests of his mother.

"You know that the hospital is on the opposite side of the city and that traffic at this time is severe. Bertram please." Bertram sighed, having heard this conversation before.

"Mother, I am simply not comfortable with my dragon form is all. Besides, even if I shifted, I'd still have to walk there and I doubt even the King would forgive a de Launces dragon walking through the streets. I will go in the car, even though it may take some time."

With that, Bertram shut the door and the car took off with a _whoosh_. Lysa looked at James with a pleading expression while Spyro and the others looked after Bertram curiously. Spyro spoke, voicing the question.

"James, what's wrong with Bertram? Why didn't he shift and what was that about walking?" James sighed, remembering that Bertram had never adopted his dragon form around his sister and his brother-in-law, Spyro, Cynder, or the kids. He nodded and looked to Spyro.

"To put it simply Spyro, Bertram cannot fly. When he was first born and shifted, his wings refused to open. I thought it unusual but not unheard of, him trying to get used to his dragon body. Then when he turned five which, as you know is when dragons begin learning how to glide, his wings wouldn't open no matter how hard he tried. He tried so hard that he nearly popped them out of their sockets. Concerned for both his health and his safety, I checked his wings and discovered the joints of his wings were fused; most likely when he was still in the womb. He is self-consious about his dragon form because of that. In his adult form, though his wings are properly formed, they are still fused and it is unlikely that he will ever fly in dragon form. That is the reason he joined the Royal Air Force instead of the Dracocorps or the Navy. He reasoned: If I cannot fly in dragon form, I will still fly as a human."

Thera stood shocked and gazed after her baby brother who was, by now, clear out of sight. No wonder when, years ago, Zafra had challenged him to a flying race, he had declined and ran inside the castle. She watched her father sigh and then made a surprising move. He went to the steam runner Josh had ridden here and started it up.

"I'll go after him. He just heard his brother's been injured. It wouldn't do for anger to replace worry. You lot go on ahead." Spyro nodded and looked at Thera and Ignitus.

"I'll head back to the manor and stay with Cynder and the children. Ignitus, look after Thera, you know how to calm her down." Ignitus nodded as Spyro leapt into the air and took off towards the de Launces manor house in Royalis. James meanwhile, started the engine on the steam runner and took off after the car. Lysa and Josh shifted and took off, followed by Thera and Ignitus.

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James caught up to the car at 3rd and Royal, roughly a quarter of the way to the hospital, and predictably, stuck in traffic. He stopped the runner, set the machine onto the empty rack behind the vehicle which he had made for transporting a runner, and climbed into the car, surprising Bertram. He tapped Victor on the shoulder.

"Sound the siren please Victor, that should clear the way."

"As you wish milord." Victor flipped a switch and a siren sounded from the vehicle. The result was instant as vehicles quickly moved to the standby lanes and allowed the vehicle to proceed forward. Bertram looked at his father.

"Dad, I needed time to think. I didn't mean to make Mom made, you know I'd never do that. On purpose anyway." James nodded but said nothing as he was deep in thought. Bertram relaxed a little and watched the city fly by as the car sped towards the hospital. Finally, he heard his father take a steadying breath.

"Do you remember that time, about oh, seven years ago? You know when I was returning from Northumbria after an extended buisness meeting?" Bertram nodded.

"I remember Mom yelling at you for catching a cold and having to take a train back instead of flying because you didn't want to get any sicker. When we heard the train approaching, Nick and me, we got on our runners and rode out to the station to meet you. Before I knew it, we were racing along the road that runs by the train tracks and I had to show Nick how much better I was than him at it. I decided to gun the throttle, shut off the limiter, and I soared past him and-" James shook his head as he chuckled.

"And you hit an incline, launched the runner into the air, did a backflip, and landed on the train platform just as I happened to step out of the passenger car. You took one look at me and knew you were in trouble." Bertram laughed as he remembered.

"Truth be told Dad, I was more excited about that time than anything else. For the first time ever, I felt like I was flying. The only other time I got such a thrill was the first time I went up in one of those old P-6 Trainers during my solo flight at the Academy. For the first time in my life, I was free. Free from the world, my disability, the jokes, the mocking me behind my back, the names. The day I joined the Royal Air Force, I was determined to show them that I may be a 'flightless lizard', but I'm a flightless lizard that can easily out fly _them_. Heh, Nick still can't believe I beat him in that race to the station. Even if I did turn the limiter off...He'll be all right, won't he?" James shrugged slightly and looked to see the hospital coming up fast.

"I won't know until I see him. I wonder though, how could this have happened?" Bertram shook his head as the car came to stop.

"I don't know, but all I can say is that the Rotarians are going to have hell to pay if Nick's hurt real bad." James nodded and, with his son beside him, walked into the hospital.

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James found Lysa, Ignitus, Thera, and Josh already in the room. Nick lay back in the bed and spoke to his sister and brother. He saw James and Bertram come in, he smiled weakly. He had burns and cuts on his arms, two or three cuts on his face, one above his right eye, and another at the corner of his mouth. A large gash in his shoulder had been stitched up with standard Army stitching.

"Hey Dad. Well little brother, it seems I was the only one among us to be clobbered eh? Josh was telling me of yours and his heroics over Sanijo." Bertram took a seat near Lysa as James examined the wounds. After a while, he nodded.

"Well, you'll pull through it looks like. I wish I had a blasted healing crystal with me now so that I could heal you immediately." Nick coughed and chuckled.

"Wishful thinking Dad, but you know that while in human form crystals have no effect on me; and at the moment, I'm too damn weak to shift." James nodded and sat down as well. After taking a second, he looked Nick straight in the eyes.

"So, son. What happened?" Nick took a breath and answered.

"It was the worst case scenario. The Federation force we were _supposed_ to meet with was annihalated some twenty minutes before we arrived. The Rotarians...they opened with a volley of artillery fire. They got seven of our tanks in the initial barrage and then fired another. Tank crews whose tanks were burning or knocked out were trying to get out. Some would get out but the second they went to aid another tank crew, they'd be gunned down by snipers in the hills. Once they were sure their artillery had done most of the damage, they sent in their own tanks. My tank was the only heavy left by that point. I ordered the Mediums to form up and then I ordered the light tanks to retreat and get help. I don't think the enemy expected those little tanks to move as fast as they did-"

He fell into a coughing fit for a moment, worrying James but he waved him off.

"Got a little smoke in my lungs but I'll live. Anyway, the Rotarians sent in their tanks. Dad, I swear I've never seen tanks of their sort before. They looked like copies of the Praetorian dreadnaught tanks and some of them looked like our heavies. The difference was the weapons, we'd send a sixty millimeter shell at them, they'd return either a seventy-five, an eighty-eight, or a ninety. We were completely out gunned and our armor wasn't worth shit. They ripped through us like paper. I think we got one or two of them before my tank took a hit to the engine. She started burning and I ordered my crew to evacuate through the lower hatch. I cycled the turret onto the hillside and began firing into the hills while my crew escaped. Then my gunner, Victor, jumped onto the wreck of another heavy tank and fired into the hill, yelling for me to get out. As I climbed out through the hatch, a seventy-five struck the side and blew me off the turret. Got this gash in me from shrapnel, my back's scratched up too. I-I wouldn't have made it out alive if not for Jakes dragging me to safety. The Rotarians stopped and retreated when they saw the bulk of the army moving towards us. They patched me us and sent me back here with the rest of the wounded."

Lysa remembered the names he said and looked at him.

"Jakes? Victor? Weren't they your old friends from school?" Nick nodded.

"Yeah. I got paired with them and with three others. Jakes, Victor, Mac and I were the only survivors. Michael and Briggs were killed when the tank they were evacuating got hit with six ninety millimeter shells at once. Th-There wasn't anything left of them but their boots." James nodded and rose, Lysa looked at him curiously.

"Love, where are you going?"

"I've got to make a call. You stay here with Nick, I'll head back to the manor and also check on the grandkids while I'm there." Bertram nodded.

"Yeah, sorry I can't stick long either Nick. Reyson only allowed me off base to deliver my report to the hearing then he expected me back. Tommorow, I meet the rest of my new squadron." Nick chuckled at this.

"So, Reyson is _finally_ placing you in charge of a squadron. All things considered, it's about damn time. Quit your grinning Josh. Need I remind you that militarily I _still_ out rank the both of you. The only thing is that now all three of us are officers. Still though Josh, glad to see you're in charge of something other than the brig." Josh grinned at this and leaned back as Bertram and James left the room.

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As Bertram got into the car after James, he turned to his father, a curious and worried expression on his face.

"What's wrong Dad? You seem worried."

"It's what he said:' We'd send a sixty, they'd return a seventy-five, eighty-eight, or ninety. Our intel on Rotiart is antiquated. It is obvious they have reverse engineered Praetorian and Tellanian technology. Praetoria uses the eighty-eight as their standard cannon, Tellanos uses the ninety for their heavy tanks. The tanks we have now are ill-equipped and poorly armored. I have no illusions of creating weapons like I used to, but I still have to do _something_." Bertram nodded, understanding how his Father felt.

"Who are you planning on calling?" James smiled as the vehicle started towards the manor house.

"I have two calls actually, one to an old friend, and the other is a...'favor' to call in." Bertram looked at him curiously.

"A...favor?"

James smiled even wider as the car sped along the main road.

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James got out of the car at the manor and went inside. In the study, he saw Spyro, Cynder and the grandkids reading some books there. Once he entered; Kaia, the youngest of Thera's four kids at nine, spotted him and she charged forward, drawing the attention of her siblings. Zafra, the eldest at eighteen, looked up from her book and nodded, chuckling at her little sister's overzealousness. Zane, the second oldest at sixteen, joined Ryu, the third oldest at fifteen in walking over and trying to pry Kaia off their grandfather.

After extracting himself from Kaia's dragon hug, James sat in his chair and picked up the phone, and tested the connection.

"Operator. Please connect me to Peninsula City, please...thank you, I'll hold."

James waited for a moment, humming a song to himself while all the grandkids except Kaia, who stayed next to him, went back to their books. James chuckled and patted her on the head and then returned his attention to the phone.

"Carver? Yeah, it's me. Listen. It's official, we're at war...Yeah...That's right...Okay, you know what to do?...Good. Ready all prototypes to be transferred to the eastern workshops, I'll let them know you're coming. Also, on another note. Is _it_ ready?...Hmm...right...of course...right. Okay, here's what I need you to do. Prototypes 234, 262, 280, 32/5, and 4432 are to be the first to be moved. Call the naval yard and get the _Leviathan_ and her sisters underway, Eastport can finish them...I don't care what the harbormaster says, the Federation has taken Ursa, this means that Port Grand Vista is now behind enemy lines. I _don't_ need to tell you what this means...Good. Now I need these instructions carried out immediately...Good bye."

James placed the phone on the reciever, waited a moment, then picked it back up and again tested the connection. This time when the operator came on, he said something different.

"Operator, this is James de Launces...confirmation number 9972544...Hello? Yes, this is James de Launces, I need to place a call into the Federation city of Retorinc...That's right, the Capital of Tellanos...No do not connect to the Coucil Building, I need you to connect me to the Federal Academy of Military Science, South Wing, Office 216. Thank you."

Again James waited as the phone lines were connected. Finally, he heard a click and a voice came on over the phone. James smiled as he remembered the voice.

"Albert Reed? James de Launces...yes I've heard...I know...Hmm, I'm sorry to hear that...I hope you get better...Listen, Albert, I'm in a bit of a pickle here and I need that favor you owe me...Okay, listen. My son, Nick, remember him? ...Yeah, the one who constantly got into fights with Xavier...He was wounded at Ursa by Rotiart...He's okay, not _okay_ but he's talking and breathing...He told me the HT-27 proved inadequate...He said they'd send a sixty at the enemy and have a seventy-five, eighty-eight, or even a ninety dropped on them...I'm working on this new tank...yes, yes, I know I'm supposed to be retired...Anyway, I need a copy of the new prototype 90mm you've been telling me about...Let's just say it's something I've got up my sleeve. Right...goodbye and for goodness sake take care, you know Lysa considers you and Xavier part of the family...Alright, take care."

James hung up the phone and rested back into his chair. Spyro and Cynder looked at him curiously.

"James? What was that all about?" James looked at Spyro and sighed.

"Hope. Spyro. I am giving my country and my country's allies hope for the future. If I can get the prototypes finished and in mass production, we can end the war quickly before it begins in earnest. If not, then I fear we are doomed to a long and bloody war the likes of which we haven't seen before. I just hope that they can be finished in time. I have a bad feeling this war will get worse before it gets better."

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Okay everybody! Here is chapter 3. Now then Like I promised, the tech guide is finished and it is up if you want to view it. By the way, can anyone spot the number reference in the prototypes? There are two references in the list of prototpyes to plans I didn't include in the tech guide. You'll have to work at them to find them. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the chapter and I'll be back soon with the next chapter.

Next Chapter: Into the Wild Blue Yonder.


	5. Into the Wild Blue Yonder

Hello everyone, glad you're reading! Sorry about the shortness of the foreword but to be honest, nothing's really been going on except that having to refresh my swimming skills on account of all the April showers. All I can say is that we'd better have on hell of a beautiful May when it comes along. Anyway, onto the story.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 4: Into the Wild Blue Yonder

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The sound of of a trumpet blasting through the base's PA system was the only warning Bertram had. Choosing to ignore the noise wasn't the smartest move as two minutes later Reyson all but kicked the door open and tossed the cot (with Bertram still in it) over and began yelling in a drill instructor tone of voice.

"_Get your lazy ass out of bed Lieutenant de Launces! You think just because you were in combat three days ago and that your brother was wounded is an excuse to sleep in?! We are at WAR pilot! W-A-R! And war does not premit slackers and slugabeds. You are a squadron leader and all squadron leaders rise with their squadrons and the sun! Do I make myself clear?!"_

Bertram dragged himself to his feet and hastily saluted Reyson. Immediately Reyson calmed down and nodded with a stoic expression.

"Just be thankful it's me you share officer's quarters with and not Fredericks or Gaspard. Those guys would neuter you for daring to sleep in during a time of war. I may be a Flight Commander but that means shit here. Anyway, let me guess, you were either so excited about getting your squadron today that you didn't get any sleep or you were worried about Nick?" Bertram lowered his hand and went to his clothes he had laid out last night.

"Both actually. Reyson, I just can't stop thinking about it. Nick's my older brother and I thought him invincible; but seeing him in that hospital bed with more stitches in him than a ragdoll makes me wonder. I know we're officially at war but it doesn't seem real." Reyson nodded.

"I know the feeling. Back when Dalon went bananas and waged war against Syllia and Avalon, we didn't have any warning then either. To be honest, if it wasn't for Gerald, we wouldn't have figured out anything until it was too late. As for feeling invincible, let me tell you something now. No one is 'invincible'. I learned that the hard way watching father try to adapt to living in a wheelchair. He was so vibrant and full of life before that wound...er, not to say the old man slowed down because of it. Still, he was Jonathan 'The Hammer' Havvers, the greatest fighter in Syllia. He is the only man alive to have pinned a dragon in hand to paw combat, and he was a hero in the Straits War, the Federation War, and the Southlands Conflict. I still can't believe it sometimes, all the things he did in life, and all the things he'd yet to do."

Reyson looked outside for a moment then sighed.

"Well, no use mourning those long dead and buried. Come on, most of your squadron's assembled and waiting your introduction." Bertram looked at Reyson curiously.

"Most of them?"

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Bertram and Reyson stood before the four members of his squadron assembled. Of course there was Michijo Ayatane and Jake Havvers, both of them now wearing the rank of Sergeant, next to Jake was the tail gunner who had flown with him in Sanijo, Daniel Briggs who had the rank of corporal on his coat. The newest member wore the uniform of a Northumbrian Air Guard (another protectorate branch of the RAF). Upon seeing Bertram, he sharply saluted and spoke with a thick accent.

"Good morning Lieutenant. Airman First Class Ivan Volgna, reporting and ready for duty, sir!" Bertram returned the salute and nodded.

"Airman Volgna. I assume you are aware of the current situation?" Ivan nodded.

"Yes, sir. I was with my old squadron performing our mountain survival training on Mount Dolg when we heard the news. I knew that mainland Syllian squadrons stood the best chances for seeing combat so I applied for an immediate transfer." Bertram chuckled uneasily.

"Well Ivan, may I call you Ivan? Anyway, Ivan, the only combat this squadron has seen so far was the attack on Sanijo. I honestly have no idea what we'll be doing next. I assume however since we're at the Royalis Flight Academy we'll conclude our training." Ivan laughed at this.

"I know Lieutenant, my training is almost done as well. I'm simply here to complete my flight training, get to know who I'll be flying with, and then once training is done, we engage the cowardly Rotiart dogs in honorable battle. Uh, by the way, where is rest of squadron?" Reyson coughed and looked to the eastern skies.

"I believe three of them are flying in now." Bertram turned to where Reyson was looking and his jaw hit the floor.

There, coming out of the clouds, were two planes. Neither of them was painted Syllian blue nor had Syllian emblems. The first plane was a single engine aircraft painted in dark green, had the identification tag: 'LF-S5', and on the left wing and fuselage bore an emblem Bertram had never seen before: a tan inverted triangle with a dark blue inverted triangle within. The second plane was a twin engine aircraft painted silver with a blue nose and tail section, its tag was: 'FG-8C', and on its left wing and fuselage was a purple outlined triangle with a split gold and green inside. Bertram heard Ayatane gasp as the planes turned for their final approaches.

"T-This can't be. Commander, are these planes from outside of Syllia?" Reyson nodded.

"Indeed Ayatane, I guess at least _one_ of my students was paying attention to the fighter identification part of the class. The first plane is a D109 from the Espan Army Aerocorps. The second is an Int63/11 from the Anoziran _Armée de l' Air_. They came at the request of their nations as an act of goodwill and, strange as it may sound, they are volunteers from neutral countries who wish to...how did they put it? 'Step the tide of injustice and oppression from a hostile invading force'. Rest assured they are not the only ones. We have over three hundred pilots from Anozira, Espan, and Praetoria who seek to aid us in helping the Federation. These two will be assigned to your squadron.

As the planes landed, rolled for a ways and finally stopped, the canopy of the first plane flew open and out jumped a young pilot the same age a Bertram or perhaps a years younger. He leapt from the wing, patted the plane lovingly, and then came towards them and waited for his comrade who was busy swearing a blue streak while trying to unfasten his flight harness. His tail gunner was busy trying to help him. Finally he was unhooked and he and his gunner came forward next to the Espan pilot and saluted. The Espan pilot stepped forward, evidently wanting to introduce himself first.

"Lieutenant. I am Airman Second Class Isaac Miller, formerly of the 3478 Squadron in the Espan Army Aerocorps. I look forward to working with you all." As Isaac moved to take a place beside Ivan, the two from Anozira stepped forward. The pilot removed the cigar from his mouth and spoke for both.

"Sir. Name's Alton Mitchell, I'm a Staff Sergeant with the Anoziran _Armée de l' Air. _This one here is my twin brother Thomas. He's an Airman Third Class and tailgunner for our plane. Doesn't talk much unless you address him directly but there's no better shot in the _Armée de l' Air. _Pleasure to work with the son of the father of modern aviation." Bertram nodded as the brothers went to stand by Issac who rolled his eyes, apparently used to the brothers. Reyson chuckled as they lined up.

"Well that takes care of most of your squadron, now where are the other two?" Bertram looked at the line of pilots and gunners before him before looking at Reyson curiously.

"I thought I had the maximum number for a squadron." Reyson nodded.

"Under peace time situations you would, but as you said we are at war. Ah ha! There they come now."

Bertram and the squadron turned and everyone went slackjawed by what they saw. Coming towards them were two women, a female wolf and cheetah. They were dressed in Syllian uniform and saluted to Reyson and Bertram. Reyson chuckled at bertram's shock and stepped forward.

"Bertram, as you are no doubt aware, Avalon is no longer the land it once was. The relationship with your father and your sister as ambassador has all but ensured Avalon is brought into the new era. These two fine women are the first of several volunteers who wish to learn how to fly a plane for Avalon. Ladies, please introduce yourselves and don't mind their slackjawed expressions." As Reyson stepped back, the cheetah stepped forward and inclined her head gracefully.

"Greetings, Lieutenant Bertram. I am Sahna Medowl of the Avalon cheetah race. I suppose my rank would be that of 'Airman'. Is that right?" The question she posed to Reyson who nodded. Then came the wolf who spoke in far more assertive tones.

"Name's Kani Fenn of Avalon's wolf race. Same as the cat here, I'm an Airman but don't go thinking all I am is a pretty face. I may not have been flying but I was also at Sanijo during the attack. I was on the ground crew shooting an MG20H. Lieutenant, you lead us into an honorable battle and you and me will get along just fine." Reyson coughed in his throat to get her attention before smiling and saluting Bertram.

"No doubt you have questions so I'll make this short. Your squadron will be tasked with deploying anywhere and at anytime we need you. It may be for overland details, you may have to swap out your land legs for sea legs and fly missions off of a carrier. Your squadron is yours to designate and name but as for your duties, we need a lot of aces right now and you lot are the only ones with one iota of combat experience. I expect all of you to be squared away by the end of the week as your deployment is being pushed up." Reyson paused as a messanger came running towards him, handed him a note and then ran back to his posting. Reyson looked at the note, sighed, then placed it in his pocket.

"I've just been informed that the Rotiart Air Aggressor Force has begun round the clock bombing of the Federation captial city of Retorinc. You and several other squadrons will be stationed at Chamberlain Federal Airport and fly interceptor missions over the capital. The frontline is only two hundred miles from Retorinc now so the leaders of the Federation have pulled back to Chamberlain as well. You'll be flying alongside the elites of the Federal Air Force. These are men and women who flew in the Callinar Incursion and who have been patrolling the border with Rotiart since then. Now then, before you ask, both Airman Fenn and Airman Medowl have been trained and issued P-29s. If memory serves that brings your planes to: four P-29s, two P-21s, one D109, one Int63/11." Bertram looked at Reyson confused.

"Two P-21s? I thought Jake was our only P-21 pilot." Reyson nodded.

"He was until Corporal Volgna came along. According to reports, Volgna's P-21 has no tail gun so its just him up there. Don't worry though, his superiors from his previous squadron assured me he was one of the best pilots they had for the P-21. Now then, all that's left is your squadron number, insignia, and your call-signs. As you know, the 'Gold' callsign is only used for nuggets. You'll have to come up with your own. Bertram, I want these things as soon as possible that way we can finish your planes." Bertram looked at him curiously.

"You mean we're getting new planes?" Reyson laughed.

"That's right, you're getting four new P-29s and two new P-21s. The planes from Espan and Anozira are already new so that's really that. Remember though: as soon as possible."

At that moment, a spluttering noise was heard. Looking up, Bertram saw a sight that made his eyes go wide, nor was he the only one. A Syllian HB-32 Heavy Bomber, with one engine on fire and smoking, was coming down onto the landing field. At that moment, a screaming noise was heard and Bertram watched in horror as Rotiart planes plummeted out of the clouds and opened fire on the bomber.

The bomber's turrets opened fire, the base defences opened fire, Reyson looked on in disbelief as the planes strafed the bomber and then pitched up again to escape the AA fire. The bomber's engines seized and it dropped, landing hard and buckling the landing gear. As the plane skidded to a halt, the crew leapt from the plane moments before the fuel tanks exploded. The HB-32, the most heavily armed and armored bomber in the RAF, was reduced to a pile of twisted metal. Shock and disbelief turned to anger as Reyson turned back to Bertram.

"Cheeky bastards! Bertram, get your squadron to their planes! I need you in the air now!"

Not even bothering to salute, Bertram turned to his squadron only to see them already running for their planes. Bertram shook his head and made a bee line for his.

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Moments later, Bertram and his squadron were airborne. Airman Miller used his plane's maneuverability to get behind one of the Rotiart fighters and blast him at short range with the four heavy manchineguns built into the wings. Unlike the lightly armored planes over Sanijo, this one took the bullets and kept going. Bertram heard Miller curse through the radio.

_"Shit! These planes are built good. My targets hit and trailing smoke but it appears I have company. Would someone mind finishing the poor bastard off?"_

At that moment, in came Ivan Volgna who went wild on the wounded plane. His ten machineguns in the nose of his P-21 shredded what was left of the plane's armor and the right wing shattered, broke from the fuselage, and the plane spun downward and cratered the ground not twenty feet from the burning bomber. Bertram got on the radio once he saw this.

"That's it guys! The only way to bring these buzzards down is to overwhelm them with bullets. Two planes in support of each other attacking one target. Ayatane, stick with Jake, Ivan, you're with me. Miller, support the Mitchell brothers. Medowl, Fenn, stick close and support each other. Alright everyone, get to your buddies and let's take these guys to town!"

The squadron broke away and took positions by their wingmen. Sure enough Bertram's tactics worked, with Jake, Ivan, and the Mitchell brothers softening up the enemy and Him, Ayatane, and Miller finishing them off. Sahna and Kani worked well together launching attacks on either side of one plane's wings until their tracers intersected and shredded the enemy plane like a, ahem, cat's claws.

The younger Mitchell brother, Thomas, and Jake's tailgunner Briggs worked feverishly with their tailguns. Apparently the enemy did not expect these agile fighters to have tailguns and broke off their attacks the second tracers struck the engine cowling. With Ivan not having a tailgunner however, Bertram had to step in, climbing above the enemy, diving, and dealing punishing damage from above should an enemy get behind Ivan's plane.

Once or twice, Bertram was sure his bullets went through the glass canopy and stained the enemy interior red with the pilot's brains. These planes were actually low enough to the ground that when they hit the soft grass, rather than explode violently, they skidded to a stop, damaged, but intact.

The sight of tracers flying by told him he had an enemy behind him. Bertram jerked the stick right then pulled back to do a quick rolling turn. The plane was going too fast to turn with him and flew straight past; straight into Sahna and Kani's guns. Both pilots opened fire and shredded the plane.

_"Oh yeah! First kill for the cheetah clan!"_

_ "Back off you overgrown plains runner! It was MY bullets that went through the wing!"_

_ "Yeah but MINE went through the canopy, tailchaser!"_

At that moment, Ivan decided to speak.

_"Ladies, there is no need to fight. We'll chalk you both up for a half a kill. How does that sound?"_

_"Buzz of snowman! We didn't ask you!" _Bertram keyed the mike.

"Ivan, one thing I learned from my brothers is never get between two women. Anyway we still have enemies up here. Reyson! Are we the only planes up are do we have reinforcements coming?"

_"That's a negative! Radar indicates enemy is retreating. I wonder why they pursued a bomber all the way here though. Get your squadron landed so we can see about these planes you shot down and see about the bomber crew."_

"Copy that. All planes begin landing procedures."

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(thirty minutes later)

Bertram's plane was the last to land and he used the rudder to park the plane alongside Miller's plane and then stopped the engine. The large three-bladed propellor slowed as it's centrifugal force was expended. He popped the hatch to the canopy, climbed out onto the wing, then jumped down and let the mechanics take a look at any damage the plane took in the skirmish. Bertram found his squadron in the crew quarters waiting for him. Reyson stood beside a man wearing the leather jacket of the RAF Bomber Corps, the rank of Lieutenant Colonel on his lapels. He looked aged but had a gentle demeanor, his light brown hair was cut short and he held a taciturn expression as Bertram entered. Reyson nodded and waved a hand in front of him.

"Bertram, gentlemen, ladies, allow me to introduce you to Lieutenant Colonel Tom Hartwig. He was one of the first volunteers of the bomber corps and is one of the finest pilots I've ever taught. Just as well considering all the grief he gave me in training." Hartwig chuckled at that and looked at Reyson.

"C'mon Rey, you still ain't sore about me nearly flying us into the forest on the first training run?" Reyson chuckled recalling the event.

"There's that, but right now I want to know what the Hell happened to you; I thought you were with the 12th Bomber Group assigned to bomb Rotiart?" Hartwig nodded, his expresion becoming downcast.

"That's right Rey, and I have to report that any overhead bombing campaign of Rotiart is impossible. Out of the three hundred bombers we sent against them, we're the only ones that made it back in one piece. The others are all scattered from here to Shadowfell. You saw how doggedly those bastards pursued us? We dropped our bombs on target but no sooner were we turning when enemy planes fell on us from the sky and flak guns opened up from below. Our HB-32s held for a while but under all the fire they were pouring on us we just couldn't take them all down. If I had to hazzard a guess, I'd say they've easily as many planes as Syllia, maybe more. Their air power is frightening."

At that moment, the door came open and the officer over the mechanics stepped in, a stoic look on his face.

"It's no wonder the bastards brought down your bomber Hartwig, these bastards have ten millimeter cannons instead of machineguns. Thankfully they only have two of them but their still more powerful than what we have at the moment. Bertram, with your permission, I'll have the mechanic assigned to your squadron take the cannons out of the captured enemy fighters and install them into your planes. There are enough of the cannons intact that we can outfit each plane with two. Since you're going to Tellanos to face them on the front line you'll need all the help you can get." Bertram remembered that his plane barely made a dent against the enemy and nodded.

"Remove the inner machineguns on the planes and fix the cannons to them. I also want enough ammunition so that the cannons can fire for a while. I have a feeling we'll be needing them." The officer saluted and exited the room. Meanwhile, Reyson looked at Bertram for a moment then chuckled.

"You know what Bertram? I think I have an idea for your squadron number. During the Avalon conflict, there was a squadron of pilots like you all I had the honor to fly with. They were not mentioned in the tabloids at home because of the missions they undertook. Unfortunately, none of them are alive today. Three were killed in combat, two were killed in peacetime air accidents, and the last was murdered in the streets of Laevatain ten years ago. Despite your differences, the different places you all come from, you banded together to repel the enemy just like the squadron before you. Therefore, I hereby have the honor of giving you the designation Squadron Two-Four-Two. Do you accept it?"

Bertram thought for a moment. Normally it was the squadron leader's duty and honor of designating the squadron. It was almost like naming your firstborn child. Still, Reyson _did _say that the 242 Squadron served with honor and distinction, despite they were almost completely unknown. In a way, considering the situation, that might actually be a _good _thing. Bertram looked Reyson in the eyes and nodded.

"On one condition, my squadron chooses their own callsigns. Although, I have a few ideas for some of them." Immediately, Miller spoke up.

"No need to worry about _my_ callsign Lieutenant. I am known in my homeland as '_Rapier_'." Mitchell chuckled.

"Yeah because you're often sharp and to the point eh? No matter. Anyway, mine's _'Mace'_ because you won't find anyone else who hits harder than me." Ayatane rolled his eyes and looked at Bertram.

"You already know my callsign but for the record, I am _'Hayate'_." Jake chuckled good-natured at the new arrivals confusion.

"Hayate is kanji for 'hurricane' in the Blue Isles. Anyway, I also picked mine already." Jake looked at his father who in turn looked at him curiously. Mustering courage, Jake turned to Bertram and Reyson.

"My callsign's _'Hammer'_, for my grandfather." Reyson went wide-eyed for a moment, then took a dep breath and nodded.

"The name suits you Jake. I know you'll do the old man proud. Alright, Bertram you said you had some ideas for our new members, well let's hear them." Bertram nodded and looked at Ivan, Sahna, and Kani.

"I got the idea from that radio burst you three entertained us with. Ivan, how do you like the callsign _'Snowman'_?" Ivan thought for a moment, then laughed and clapped his hands together.

"I like it. It's better than what I was going to say anyway. Snowman it is and a very fitting one to as I'm from Northumbria." Sahna and Kani glared daggers at Bertram.

"You better not _think_ of calling us tailchaser or plains runner! If you do, officer or not, you're name'll be _'Mud'_!" Bertram laughed for a moment then shook his head.

"Nothing as offensive, I assure you. Although Kani, with yours why not keep it? Just drop the 'tail' part of it and become _'Chaser'_? Few things a pilot hates worse than an enemy who simply won't give up the chase." Kani thought for a moment, then gave Bertram a big grin.

"I like it! I'll bet it's a lot better than whatever you give the furball here." Sahna looked at Kani crossly, then looked at Bertram pleadingly. Bertram calmly raised his hand to stave off the plea.

"It's alright Sahna, I have one for you as well. Since the cheetahs primarily use bows for hunting, how about _'Archer'_?"

Sahna stood for a moment, staring at Bertram, then, to the shock of Bertram, she sprang forward and threw her arms around his neck, much to Kani's shock.

"Bertram thank you! Thank you so much!" I-I was never able to master the bow because back home. By naming me Archer, you have given me the greatest honor anyone has ever bestowed upon me. Thank you!" Bertram laughed weakly.

"I-I get it you thank me. Heh, now could you please let go? I-I can't breathe." Sahna quickly got up as blush of embarassment spread across her face.

"S-Sorry. I-I mean sorry, Lieutenant." The rest of the squadron burst out laughing at this as Bertram grinned. Reyson laughed as well and looked between Bertram and Sahna.

"Hah. You two _do_ know that dating squadron members is against every regulation in the book, not to mention the reg about officers and enlisted." Bertram and Sahna both blushed and Reyson laughed louder.

"Not that it's any of my buisness what my officers do. Their squadrons are _their_ buisness, not mine. What do I care if a de Launces dragon wants to date a cheetah?"

Reyson began laughing again as he walked towards the squadron board and began writing. Bertram Looked at the board and saw Reyson finish writing the squadron member's names, callsigns, and the new squadron number.

"All jokes aside, I'll have it made official. The Two-Four-Two Squadron is hereby made operational and I hereby issue them their first orders: once the planes are repaired, painted, and modified, you will be flying to the Tellanos Federation city of Chamberlain. Once there you are ordered to assist the Federal Air Force by any means neccesary. Your rules of engagement are any and all aircraft and targets of opportunity that bear the emblem of the Rotiart military. Furthermore, while there, you are delegates of Syllia, you are to obey the orders of the Federation command within reason. Do _not_ under any circumstances, leave the air space of Chamberlain to pursue kill scores. Your duty is to protect the city. If I hear about _anyone_ forsaking their duty to further their kill scores and rank standing, I will personally skin them. Do you get me?!"

Bertram and the squadron snapped to attention and as one saluted Reyson.

"We get you sir!" Reyson nodded and returned the salute.

"Lieutenant de Launces, take your squadron to the barracks and grab your personal effects, then go to the ready room until you are called to deploy. That is all. Dismissed!"

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(meanwhile at the Dracocorps field)

James ducked as Zakwel shot another bolt of lightning angrily at the Rotiart plane that had crashed in the Dracocorps field. The pilot had survived and had since been hauled away by the MPs. The Dracocorps had heard the gunfire and the air raid siren and then out of nowhere, a plane comes in and attempts to strafe the dragons on the ground. A timely lightningbolt from Zakwel took care of the problem, but Zakwel was still furious, and so were all the dragons as a matter of fact. Zakwel took a deep breath and turned his gaze to James, his brother-in-law.

"James, why can't we _fight_?! You know as well as I that there is no keeping a fighting dragon or dragoness out of the air! Why didn't you let us take off?!" James sighed sadly; this wasn't the first time he'd heard the arguement from Zakwel but this time they were at war. James looked to Zakwel and then to the gathered dragons around him.

"You all know the reason, no dragon, no matter how swift, can outrun a manchine capable of going three to four hundred miles per hour. Even the fastest dragon here can barely break two-hundred and that's with a tail wind. I've been working on a way to get the Dracocorps back into the fray but until I find something I'm afraid my hands are tied."

Zakwel glumly looked at his paws. Twenty years ago he would never have shown his emotions so openly. Once James had earned his trust and even more so when him being of dragon descent was amde public, Zakwel had come to see him more and more as a brother.

"Brother, you built the Dragon Carriers, you modernized the entire military. Yet all you have given us is reasons why we cannot fight yet. If not now then when? Damn it James answer me! While this war goes on, the Dracocorps is getting rusty, fat, and lazy! Do you think we _want_ this? It's as if Syllia is saying it doesn't need us anymore!" James looked up at him and sighed.

"Okay, okay I get it. Let me think...Well, the Dracocorps can still provide close air support to the ground forces, then there is also naval engagements against non-carrier fleets, then there is a matter I've been investigating but so far I've not found anything about it." Zakwel looked at him, his curiousity peaked.

"What investigation?"

"There was a report from a Federation bomber unit that managed somehow to reach the Rotiart capital of Shadowfell and bomb it. However, according to the radio report, the pilot and co-pilot immediately noticed several winged creatures attacking the bomber. We don't know what happened to the crew but it is assumed the bomber was lost. The creatures described sounded like...dread griffons." Zakwel's eyes went wide and then he snarled.

_"Dread Griffons?!_ Those egg stealing, hatchling eating, feathered freaks still live?! I thought they were extinct!" James nodded.

"So did I until I read the report. It seems that Rotiart doesn't just keep a dread griffon on their flag as a source of pride for their lost empire, they seem to have been guarding a last refuge for griffons to breed, live, and grow. An agent with the Royal Intelligence Corps has been investigating the matter for me and he seems to confirm it. Rotiart has built a mockery of our Dracocorps called the Griffon Corps. However, griffons haven't been seen in the Federation yet so either they are too few in number and wish to stay home or they are simply biding their time. Worst case scenario, they are simply biding their time and once the Federation is out of the way they will fall upon us like water upon rock."

Zakwel looked at James and dropped his voice to barely above a whisper. Thankfully no other dragons had heard his outburst otherwise the entire dragon populace of Syllia would cry bloody murder and likely wing it for Rotiart to end the griffon threat once and for all. Still, Zakwel had a thought and lowered his head.

"James, is _this_ the reason you've held us in reserve?" James nodded.

"Yes, I've also instructed Voltaris and Titanus to order all hatcheries on the west coast and border moved east as quickly as possible. Under the guise of a standard evacuation plan, I've also ordered the western dragon cities to begin evacuating. Only the Dracocorps remain in the west. If this Griffon Corps comes here, we will need the Dracocorps and indeed _all_ dragons at full strength. You say the dragons are getting fat and lazy? So be it. Skylord Zakwel, I am hereby issueing an order to be followed to the letter. While the Dracocorps cannot engage enemy aircraft, they are to prepare for training in the areas I've specified, furthermore, all dragons are to perform a mandatory fitness training excersise everyday until the war either comes to our doorstep or it ends."

"Or the griffons arrive."

James nodded sternly. He gazed to the west and hoped that his informant was alright. If the griffons arrived in Tellanos and swooped into Syllia, the enemy would awaken a rage the likes of which the world had not seen in ten or more generations. Dragons had long memories and the atrocities commited by the griffons centuries before was ingrained into the dragon blood. The dragons would not hesitate to kill each and every griffon possible.

For the griffons were the same and, given the chance, they would gladly see the dragon race into extinction.

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Okay, chapter four is up and done. For the record, griffons are awesome and I like them I just needed an antagonist for the Dracocorps so that they will be placed throughout the story. Well, I used the term _Dread_ Griffons to symbolize they are not like regular griffons. Anyway, enough about griffons. As always, please review and tell me how I did.

Uses force persuade: You will review the story.

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Sorry; two-week long KotOR bender. The classics never die.

As a history note: the 242 Squadron was a Canadian RAF squadron stationed in England during WWII. It was under the command of Douglas Bader, one of Britain's greatest aces during the Battle of Britain. What made Bader so special was that he suffered a plane crash around 1925 in which he lost both his legs. He flew a Hurricane and later a Spitfire using prosthetic tin legs.

Later he was shot down over Germany but was forced to leave one of his legs in his plane. Goering later authorized a British airdrop of an extra leg for Bader. Once he got his leg, it led to an almost maddening number of escape attempts until his German POW camp commander threatened to take away his legs. He was eventually transferred to Colditz where he remained for the rest of the war. At war's end he returned to England and was given a hero's welcome.

When Bader was placed in command of 242 in 1940, it was rated as one of the worst squadrons in the RAF. By the time Bader himself became an ace, 242 was among the best.

Anyway, part 2 of the tech guide is also up if you guys want to check it out and as always, ya'll take care and have a blessed day. Also, advanced heads up, there will be a split in the story next chapter. I will post the choice in the form of a poll once chapter 5 is posted.

Next chapter: Task Force E-15 Deployed, 242: Scramble!


	6. Task Force E15 Deployed: 242, Scramble!

Alright everyone, I'm back again. Whew I'm glad this week is over, how about you all? Okay, enough with the foreword, let's get down to brass monkeys, or is it brass tacks? Er, anyway, on with the disclaimer. Wait a second, where'd that tank come from?! Duck! (explosion in background)

Once again, I came, I saw, I got blowed up...(falls over)

_Initiate autotype sequence_

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE, ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 5: Task Force E-15 Deployed: 242, Scramble!

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James, Lysa, Spyro, Cynder, Ignitus, and Thera stood with the others as the crew of the newly repaired _RNV Interceptor_ boarded the ship. In keeping with tradition, the NCOs were the first to board followed by the enlisted and lastly the officers. Before the group stood Joshua de Launces, dressed in his Navy blue officer's dress uniform. He stood before his mother and father for a moment before embracing Lysa and then saluting his father. As he dropped the salute, he smiled that boyish smile he always had when he was growing up.

"Don't either of you worry. From what our intelligence suggests, the Callinar forces are only attacking because they sense an opportunity. Once we arrive and set them straight, we should have no more problems from the west and can then head north to support Tellanos." James sighed.

"I do not doubt your optimism my son, but do not allow it to become overconfidence or arrogance." Josh nodded lightly, having heard this before.

"Alright Dad. Still, I suppose there is reason to be cautious. All of our intelligence is dated from the Callinar Incursion ten years ago. There is no telling what has happened since then. Don't fret Mom, I'll send a wire as often as I can." Lysa came forward and embraced Josh again.

"Just please don't do anything too reckless, I already have a son in the hospital and another on his way to a combat zone. I don't need one lost at sea." Josh laughed and returned the embrace before releasing Lysa and walking up the gangplank.

With mix of pride and concern, James watched his son climb the exterior ladder and take his position on the _Interceptor_'s observation bridge.

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As Josh arrived on the bridge, his XO, Ensign Charles Walker, stepped forward and saluted him.

"Lieutenant. The Admiral has given us the honor of being first to depart. Once the rest of the fleet leaves port and steams to the rally point, we'll take up a position on the _Crucible_'s port side as an anti-submarine escort." Josh returned the salute and turned to the bridge and began the process of leaving port. On the dock, the brass band began playing the anthem of the Royal Navy.

"Master Chief! Have the crew cast off all lines!" The deck crew rushed across the deck to the starboard side and began to cast off the lines. Josh then turned to the anchor crew.

"Hoist anchor!"

The anchor capstan began to turn, winding up the heavy steel chain that held the _Interceptor_'s two heavy anchors.

"Docking crew, shove off!"

Ten teams of five large men with metal poles placed the pushers on the steel hull and began to shove. The _Interceptor_, no longer tied down by her anchors and mooring ropes, began drifting away from the dock. Josh mentally counted the feet between his ship and the dock until he reached twenty, then picked up the radio gave the order.

"All engines ahead one-third. Rudder fifteen degrees to starboard" The response was immediate.

_"Engines ahead one-third, rudder fifteen starboard, aye sir!"_

A vibrant bell sounded on the bridge and Josh saw the mini-telemotor needle click over to one-third. With a _whoosh_, steam began to rise from the funnels and with a sharp _clang_ the funnel vents opened and grey smoke began to rise. A low thrumming was heard as the ships twin screws began rotating in the water, a slight wake forming as the _Interceptor_ set sail. The ship began to straighten it's path as the rudder returned to midship. Walker turned to Josh and nodded.

"Approaching six knots sir." Josh spared a glance back at the dock and saw his family one more time, then cast a glance at the wreckage of the _Prince Obël._ He saw that crews were working to try and refloat her and nearby, then there was the wreckage of the destroyer that had taken a torpedo for them and further along, the capsized hull of the battleship _Calmina_, her hull full of holes from cutting torches. He gave a salute to the _Prince Obël_ before turning away and gripping the radio.

_(Captain, I will not waste the chance you bought for me. For you and those who died here, I will fight hard to avenge you all.)_

"Sanijo Port Authority, this is _RNV Interceptor_ requesting permission to depart."

After a moment of pause, the radio came to life again.

_"Sanijo Port Authority to _RNV Interceptor, _permission granted. Fair winds and following seas to you all."_

The resounding _'BOOM'_ of a salute gun rattled the harbor. The sounds of people cheering sounding louder as they departed port. Smiling slightly, Josh looked to his XO.

"Mr. Walker, let's take her out. Engines ahead standard, course two-four-seven." Walker smiled and nodded, picking up the bridge radio.

"All engines ahead Standard, course two-four-seven."

_"Ahead Standard, aye sir! Course two-four-seven!"_

Again the telemotor clicked over to midway where 'Standard' was written. Josh felt the ship begin to turn and watched the compass take on a heading of west-by-southwest.

"Mr. Walker, once we get clear of the port and reach our staging area, I'd like to run the ship through her paces. First, we test crew readiness at battlestations, then we push the engines, finally, we test damage control." Charles saluted.

"Very good sir, just what we need to make sure the crew works well together." Just then, the Master Chief, a grizzled veteran named Eric Barnes, came up to the bridge and saluted them.

"Lieutenant, Ensign, Master Chief Herman Barnes reporting as ordered sirs." Josh returned the salute.

"At ease Chief, I simply want to know how well the ship will work with the crew." Barnes nodded.

"To be perfectly honest sir, it could be better. The previous Captain, by my understanding, was a stickler for ship cleanliness during inspections but unfortuately not much else. We have several new arrivals and the veteran crewmen who need time to properly mesh together. Not to mention this is your first command sir? I guess that's why they dragged me out of retirement. I'll be helping you and the XO steady the crew for their duties." Josh nodded.

"Indeed, it is my first command. May I ask, who asked you to come out of retirement?" Barnes smiled as he watched the water change from a coastal blue-green to deep vibrant blue which meant the _Interceptor _had left the coastal waters and had entered into the open sea.

"That would be your Father, sir. I was a Maintenance chief on the _Arkibus_ when I met him during her sea trials, I later served with Admiral Greagor on the _Crusader_ and then served aboard the _Ranger_ as an advisor during the Callinar Incursion. Your Father was most impressed with my service record and asked for me to help you transition from life as a deck officer to Captain. I wanted to get back on a fighting vessel once Sanijo was attacked and so I said yes to his offer. One thing though, don't let my age fool you, I may be nearing my seventies and may not be able to work on engines anymore, but I still know the basics of command and control. Now then, sir, I believe we are in open waters now and by my watch it will take the rest of the fleet forty-five minutes to an hour to get joined with us. We have some time to troubleshoot."

Josh took a deep breath and then nodded.

"Let's get started then. XO, sound general quarters." Walker nodded and picked up the radio.

"General Quarters! General Quarters! All hands to Action Stations!"

Immediately a bell sounded throughout the ship. Hatches on the foward and aft bridges were thrown open as gun crews ran for their cannons. On the bow, Josh watched grimly as one man, apparently one of the new crewmen, tripped over his feet. The man was then pulled up by another who then pushed him towards his designated AA gun. Josh took out his pocketwatch, looked at the second hand tick by and sighed.

Regulations for time stated that a destroyer of this size should be manned and ready within three minutes of the first bell. The minute hand clicked over the seventh minute and Josh had the bell turned off. He then faced the crew who looked towards the bridge.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I am your Captain, Josh de Launces. This has been a drill to see what exactly this crew is capable of. While the time of seven minutes is good if we were on a battleship, we are unfortunately on a destroyer, a vessel that is usually first and foremost to engage and be engaged in battle. Gun number one was the first and only of our five cannons manned within the allowed three minutes. During our voyage from Syllia to Callinar, we will be training and we will not stop until we are the best damned ship in Task Force Echo Fifteen."

The crew, obviously expecting rebuke, but instead recieving encouragement, cheered loudly. So loudly Josh almost didn't hear the radio come on.

_"Captain! Sonar contact bearing three-zero-zero! I haven't heard anything like this one before sir!"_ Josh switched the radio to the Port Authority frequency.

"Sanijo Port Authority this is _RNV Interceptor_, do we have any submarines working in the area?"

There was a pause. Josh wondered if he was asking about nothing until the reply came.

_"_Interceptor_, that is a negative we do NOT have any submarines this close to shore. All submarines are currently deployed to Callinar Islands for the current operation. Repeat: No subs in area."_

"Copy that. _RNV Interceptor _is declaring hostile spotted. Engaging anti-submarine weapons."

Josh flipped the switch sounding the submarine horn. The crew looked at him for a moment before registering the worry on his face. Josh immediately got on the ship radio.

"Sonar detected hostile submarine bearing three-zero-zero. This is _not_ a drill. Man the depth charges!"

The crew, now realizing the situation, ran to the guns. Walker meanwhile ran to the aft bridge to oversee the depth charges. Once there, he radioed Josh.

_"Depth charges manned and ready Captain, give us the word."_

Josh left the observation bridge and descended into the command deck. He was pleased to see the crew at their stations and looking alert. He turned to the sonar operator.

"Sonar contact still there?" The young seaman at the panel nodded.

"Aye sir, still holding three-zero-zero, depth estimate is seven-zero feet. Wait! We've been marked sir! He's going deep! Passing eight-zero feet!"

"All engines ahead flank! Radio any nearby destroyers to help us blanket the area!"

"Sir the only nearby ships are the Destroyer Escorts _RNV Berkley_ and _RNV Calloway_! They've recieved our message and are coming to help. Sanijo Airfield is scrambling aircraft, harbor patrol has launched their P-27 flying boats!"

"Second sonar contact bearing two-nine-zero, depth is six-zero feet and rising, range is a quarter-mile. Range to first contact is one mile out! What the fuck?! Third contact bearing two-four-five, it's at periscope depth! Range is...Five-Hundred meters, we're in torpedo range!" Josh looked at the sonar operator.

"Anything else? What are they doing Sonar?!" The operator listened and dialed in the sonar array to listen, then paled.

"He's opening his outer doors and preparing to fire!"

At that moment, a low droning noise was heard. Josh looked out the window on the bridge to see a P-27, flying low, drop a series of depth charges onto the location of the sub that had opened its doors. A second later a series of explosions followed by a large fireball that bloomed from the water. Josh looked again to sonar who looked to be listening intently to something, then nodded.

"Hit confirmation! Enemy sub is breaking up. Captain, I would suggest asking for a salvage team to raise and investigate the sub."

"All in due time sailor, _after_ we hit those last two subs."

"Aye sir! Still, I personally would like to buy that flight crew a round of drinks. Okay, both contacts still in range. First and closest contact is at three-zero-four, depth is estimated at seven-zero and going deeper, range is...Sir! We're right on top of them!

Josh grabbed the radio to the aft bridge and signalled for the bell rung.

"Drop charges now!"

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On the stern, sailors released the rolling clamps on the depth charge racks, often called ash cans, and let the charges begin rolling over the stern of the ship. Each charge had been set to detonate around one hundred and forty feet. The crew dropped thirteen charges over the suspected area and a moment later as the _Interceptor_ was preparing another run, a similar, though smaller explosion, came to the surface. This time debris was brought up as well.

Seeing this Walker keyed the mike.

"Captain, enemy submarine successfully depth charged. We've got debris and fuel in the water."

_"Copy that. All that's left is the lone submarine."_

"Aye aye sir, we're reloading the racks now."

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As soon as Josh lowered the radio, he heard the sonar operator cry out and rip the headset from his ears.

"What happened?!" The operator looked at him with a pained expression.

"Bastards initiated an emergency blow. Underwater, the sound of escaping air is like an explosion. Upside is that they can't stop their assent, they'll be surfacing soon." Josh turned to the helmsman.

"What's our heading as compared to the enemy sub?"

"If we keep this pace we'll be kissing them as soon as they surface sir!"

"Hard a starboard, have all the guns cycle to starboard and ready torpedo launchers just in case."

Through the bridge window, Josh saw the 5 inch bow gun rotate to face the starboard side as the _Interceptor_ began to turn. The sonar operator, now recovered, replaced his headset on and got a fix on the sub.

"Captain! We are now broadside to the enemy sub and they are at a quarter mile distance from us, preparing to surface, sir, what are your orders?"

Josh thought about what he could do in a situation like this. Naturally of course he could broadside the damned sub and that would be the end of it. Sinking it would be the more conventional thing but, he seemed to reason, when has anyone with the de Launces name been reasonal or original? He then remembered learning about his great-great grandfather, Geoffrey de Launces, who was a famous privateer in the age of sail.

In command of the frigate _Dauntless_, Geoffrey de Launces became one of the wealthiest privateers in Syllia and not just because of his skill at sailing. He had befriended a group of sea dragons who salvaged enemy shipwrecks for him in return for a small cut of the treasure for their services.

"Hold here, keep all guns trained on the sub. As soon as it surfaces, I want it raked with machinegun fire so they won't be able to man their deck gun. Chief! Get a boarding crew ready and launch one of the boats! Who knows what sort of intel may be aboard that sub! We've sunk two, let the last one be our prisoner." Barnes looked at Josh and nodded.

"Sir, it may as well be considered that there may be scuttling charges aboard." Josh nodded.

"It's a risk, however, if nothing is ventured, nothing is gained as Dad always says." Barnes nodded and went below.

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Barnes came through the hatch, slamming it behind him and getting the Marine's attention.

"Open the armory and break out the guns, Captain wants us to board an enemy sub when she surfaces."

A dozing Marine Lance Corporal did a double take and went wide-eyed.

"The hell'd you say Chief?" Barnes ignored the outburst and looked back, understanding the reaction.

"We've sunk two submarines, and there is a third that is surfacing, we are to get in a boat, go over to it, and take it and the crew prisoner. Any other questions?"

There was silence until the Gunnery Sergeant opened the lock on the Armory and whistled for the group.

"No questions? Good. Meet me on the deck in two minutes. Move out!"

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In the distance, Barnes could see 20mm machinegun rounds bouncing off the conning tower and forward deck of the enemy sub as Barnes and his group of twelve Marines came up on deck. As far as he could see, the guns were keeping the enemy gun crew pinned down and away from the large 5 inch deck gun on the stern section of the sub. True to form, the submarine was painted black, on the conning tower was painted the emblem of the Callinar National Navy along with the number _'28'_ in stark white.

Barnes turned to another seaman mearby and motioned for him.

"Have guns ten, eleven, twelve, and thirteen cease fire. Prepare to lower the boat."

The seaman passed the word and then had the gunners help them swing the davits that held the longboat over the side.

The boat was a small fifty foot longboat with a small outboard motor and could accomodate thirty to forty men or in this case, one grizzled Master Chief, two young seamen, and a dozen heavily armed Marines, and a .50 caliber MG20H on the bow. Barnes himself and two Marines had grabbed S16 shotguns, seven Marines had MP20 submachineguns, the remaining three Marines had MR5 Assault Rifles.

Under cover fire from the machineguns on the _Interceptor_, Barnes and his Marines began crossing quarter-mile distance between the destroyer and the sub. As the report of more machineguns opened up, Barnes looked and saw the destroyer escorts had joined the cover fire. Barnes turned to his Marines.

"Captain wants the sub intact if possible for study. However, you see a Callinar sonuvabitch with a detonator or a scuttling charge in his hands, you blow him away and don't think twice about blasting the enemy. If possible, secure the officers, logbooks, maps, and communication logs. Also, as to no hateful intentions, no looting of personal effects or corpses for trophies. We may be at war, but that makes us enemies, it does not give us permission to become thieves. Not that I have to worry about Marines forsaking their honor, right?"

The Marines chuckled at the joke and then canned it as the hull of the sub loomed before them. As soon as the longboat came alongside the sub, the guns on the ships fell silent. Barnes and the Marines leapt aboard the sub as a sailor manned the .50 cal in the boat, the barrel aimed at the bridge. With a motion of his hand, Barnes sent four Marines towards the bridge. A moment later, the Marines stood at the top of the sub. A hatch opened and up came a stick with a piece of white cloth tied around it. Barnes nodded and the Marines helped the crew in the forward torpedo room out through the hatch. The officer of the torpedo room came forward and saluted Barnes, he spoke in broken Callinian, but was relieved when a Marine came up and spoke perfect Callinian. Barnes nodded to the Marine.

"You speak Callinian?" The Marine nodded.

"Yes Chief, my Mum's from Sinnica on Tora Island."

"Good. Ask this officer if any scuttling charges have been placed." The Marine nodded and spoke a string of odd sounding words. The officer shook his head, but then seemed to think of something and quickly spat out a string of words and pointed to the hatch at the stern of the sub.

"He says the bow crew didn't arm any charges, however, the stern officers might have!" Barnes nodded.

"You two stay here with me, the rest of you get to that aft hatch and get it open, again, you see a charge, disarm it. If a sailor has a weapon, engage." The Marines on the bridge descended into the conning tower and the group of Marines ran to the aft hatch and pried the it open.

Gunfire exploded from the aft hatch as the crew of the aft room opened fire up through the hatch. A Marine pulled a grenade from his belt and thought about throwing it down there until Barnes yelled at him.

"You toss a grenade down there, you'll detonate those torpedoes and we all get swimming lessons!"

Gunfire from inside the sub got the group's attention and a second later, a Marine came up the aft hatch and waved to Barnes.

"Stern charges disarmed Chief! Crew and intel is secured, no casualties on our end, five deaths for the enemy." Barnes thought of something and looked at him.

"Five deaths? What about the crew, the officers?"

"All dead Chief. Suicide." Barnes bit back a curse, then motioned for the Callinian speaking Marine, Lance Corporal Clark.

"Alright Clark, get these men into the longboat and take them to the _Berkley_, the _Calloway _will take care of towing the sub into port." At that moment, a Marine came up from the conning tower hatch with something in his hands.

"Chief, I think we may need to get this particular item to intelligence or to the Captain's father." Barnes took the cloth from over the device and whistled at what he saw.

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It seemed that no sooner had James turned from seeing Josh's ship round the bend and disappear from sight that sirens went off and P-27s began taking off from their docks. When he asked the nearby port officer what was going on, he replied simply:

_"Interceptor_ spotted three subs in the area and has engaged them. Though how the devil they knew where to be is beyond me." James now looked out to sea worriedly after news that two submarines were sunk and another captured.

"Strike the enemy where they least expect it. Hmm...who would think of attacking a port after all the important capital ships have already deployed or been moved." The officer shrugged.

"Damned if I know sir, that's a question well above my pay grade." James went back to the group gathered. Lysa looked at him worriedly and Spyro was curious.

"James, what happened?"

"Josh's ship engaged three enemy submarines shortly after entering deep water. One was sunk by a P-27, the _Interceptor_ depth charged another, and the third...well, the third sub has been captured intact. It seems the crew in the forward torpedo room had second thoughts about going down with the ship. The escort _Berkley _is bringing in the captured crew while the _Calloway_ is towing the sub in. I guess there's really nothing left to worry about."

Lysa breathed a sigh of relief and then looked toward a P-27 returning. It looked to be going at full speed. The grandkids, having never seen a flying boat before, came forward to watch it land.

The P-27 landed smoothly in the water, yawed left and then stopped its engines. The plane coasted to a dock where a hatch was thrown open and out came a young man with the Royal Marine Naval Air Corps (RMNAC) and under an arm he carried a strange box. The man briskly walked down the pier and stopped before James and saluted and presented the box with a note. James returned the salute, took the package and read the note.

_Father, _

_ Our efforts to capture the enemy submarine, which I am told by the torpedo officer is called C-22, have turned up more than we have imagined. The charts recovered have been sent to the cruiser Crusible as part of our intel gathering objective. We also recovered this device which reminded one of the boarding crew, Master Chief Herman Barnes, of one of your old encoding devices. I know that since then they have fallen out of use but if Callinar is still using these relics perhaps you have the cipher code back at the workshop?_

_ There appears to be several messages that are not decoded yet which I have enclosed with the machine itself. As Interceptor took no damage from the encounter, we have (finally) joined with the main fleet and are now en route. Tell Mom I'm sorry to have worried her and that again, as I said I will send a wire whenever I can._

_ Love always, Josh._

_ PS: Please send me the cipher for the machine ASAP. If we can crack the code early, we will have a bigger advantage over Callinar once they realize their ambush failed._

James looked back to Lysa and then to Spyro, Cynder, and the others and sighed.

"Spyro, Cynder, I know that you all just arrived here but I need to ask a favor of you. Take Thera and the grandkids back to Avalon." Lysa and Thera went wide-eyed at this and Thera even went so far as to begin to protest when a glance from her father silenced her.

"Thera, my daughter, I know what you want to say, but I have a feeling things in Syllia will get far worse before they get better. For my sake, as well as that of your mother's and brother's, take the kids back to a land that is at peace. They do not need to see war up close like we have. They do not deserve such horrors inflicted upon them." Thera paused for a moment, seeing genuine concern in her father's eyes. Thera might have said something if Kaia hadn't huffed in her child-like way.

"Grampa, this doesn't matter any. We're dragons, we can take down anything that stands against us. At least, that's what Daddy always says." Lysa couldn't help but chuckle as James looked at the now embarrassed Ignitus.

"Hmm...this from the dragon who when he first met your mother he stuttered and jumped at his own shadow?" Kaia's jaw dropped and her crystal blue eyes went wide in amazement as she looked to her daddy who was now an even brighter shade of red.

James chuckled as the other grandkids came up and embraced him. Sometimes he still couldn't believe he was a grandfather. Zafra, the eldest of them was a complete bookworm, yet, she was also a bit of a tomboy. Whereas dragonesses of her age spent their time in groups discussing males and other things, Zafra spent her time analyzing things such as architecture, literature, elemental magic, and above all else, machines. She had developed a rare elemental ability. Aside from being a natural at earth magic, she could draw metal out of the earth and forge things with it by simply _willing_ them into existance. James still had the 1/1000th scale RNV _Arkibus_ she had made him when she turned ten. In fact, if Thera had asked him to, he would have taken her on as an apprentice and a student.

Then there was Zane; cool, calm, always collected. Like his sister, he was always studying something but unlike her, he was always studying magical theory and the properties of magical crystals. He was a purple dragon like Spyro, only he had a rapier like tailblade (and he was _well_ versed in using it), and instead of gold horns and belly scales, his were ivory white. He seemed to have a fascination with hybrid elements and also with unique abilities such as his sister's metal working ability and his own ability to use elemental crystals like his grandfather.

Next was the wild child, Ryu. The only shapeshifter in the brood, Ryu had an affinity for his human form but also enjoyed using his dragon form. He was truly 'wild' by Thera's account: always getting into fights, pulling pranks, and causing no end of mischief. The upside is that he has recently managed to focus some of that energy into classes that actually hold his attention such as fencing, athletics, and aerial maneuvers. He was almost always duelling with Zane and had apparently had the ability to use element crystals.

Finally, again, was Kaia, the youngest and the one most full of energy. No surprise since she had the element of lightning and had become friends with one of Volteer's great-grandchildren and also became friends with several other young dragonlings, she became twice the bundle of energy she already was. Due to her young age, she was not yet quite in control of her element and wa sprone to releasing little jolts when she was excited (which was about every minute of every hour, every day).

James knew that this war was not something he wanted these young ones, unscarred by conflict, to bear witness to. Avalon was a protectorate of Syllia but it was also an independant nation, more than capable of holding its own against any possible threats. Yet if something should happen to the Federation, the Blue Isles, or even Syllia itself, Avalon would be in range of the enemy. Spyro came up and looked at him.

"James, what is it you are truly afraid of?"

"War is always an uncertain thing my friend. In the past we knew our enemy, what they were capable of, and how to stop them. Sure there were some surprises but we managed to triumph regardless. For all my experience and knowledge, Rotiart invading Tellanos was _unexpected_ to put it mildly. They are an unknown; a _very _dangerous unknown. What I fear is the kids being dragged into this. I cannot withdraw or recall my cjhildren nor can I say anything in regards to the grandkids. I know this is stupid to ask but, Spyro, will you and Cynder watch the grandkids where Lysa and I cannot? My efforts will be devoted entirely to assisting Syllia and Tellanos and I will not be able to shift my attentions anywhere else. If Rotiart or their allies move against Avalon, you, Cynder, Ignitus, and Thera will need to be there to stop them." Spyro looked at him with shock.

"James...Avalon is still woefully unprepared for a conflict of this scale. Apes, Pirates, and Mercenaries are one thing but a national army is something else entirely." James nodded.

"Noted. That's why I have enlisted the help of a friend. As you know, Syllia's Queen is the granddaughter of Praetoria's Empress. Though she is Syllian royalty, she still has a voice in Praetorian politics. In fact, her grandmother recently created a force known as the Queen's Brigade, a force dedicated to the Queen. In response to the situation, and with the permission of the Empress, the Queen's Brigade has been deployed to Warfang. They are a complete armored division with over three-thousand soldiers and five-hundred tanks. On top of that, I pulled a few strings with my student in Espan, Prince Roberto and got the Espan Royal Second Carrier Fleet and Fifteenth Battle Fleet transferred to patrols around Avalon and the surrounding islands. It's more than enough to give any military force pause and at the same time doesn't detract from any nation's military force." Spyro, though stunned at this new information, couldn't shake a feeling he had.

"Will it be enough?" James sighed and looked up towards the sky as if seeking an answer.

_(We can only hope...although, given the reports, we need all the hope we can muster.)_

His thoughts shifted automatically to Bertram and Josh, both of whom were now in harm's way.

_(Be safe you two. If anything happened to either of you Lysa would never forgive me.)_

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Bertram cursed as he scraped ice off the cowling of his plane. Somehow, Reyson had neglected to tell him that Chamberlain was in the midst of a sudden freak cold front. The planes could still take off and land, however, the Tellanos maintenance crews here were inexperienced in dealing with ice and snow. Thankfully Ivan taught the basics to the ground crews and pilots.

The first step was salt. Lots, and lots, of salt spread over the runway. Salt melted the snow and ice and allowed for it to be scraped and brushed away. The second was heat. Thanks to a wing from the 205th Dracocorps Wing from Headbashedin who were experienced in defrosting runways and planes, the planes from Tellanos and Syllia were able to take off much faster than Rotiart could anticipate. On the first day here, Bertram's squadron had scrambled three times before breakfast. Despite promising intelligence, Chamberlain was not as well defended as the reports suggested.

The majority of Tellanos planes here were obsolete PF16s, repurposed carrier-launched CF20s, a few modern PF31s, and obsolete PHB22s. Every day, fewer and fewer returned from sortie. Upon landing at the airfield, the base commander approached him, he was a mountain of a man that vaguely reminded him of Jonathan Havvers with the exception that he had a full head of brown hair and also had a thick beard and moustache. The commander had introduced himself as Colonel-General Mikhail Storovich, and he had only one piece of advice for the squadron.

"Don't bother making friends with the other pilots. Chances are they'll be dead within the week. You Syllians can retreat if things fall through, we on the other hand, have been ordered not to retreat upon pain of death. The Committee has issued a decree: 'Either we fight or we die'."

That was the first and only conversation, or anything near a conversation Bertram had had with any Tellanian soldier or pilot at that ice covered airfield. The only other conversations were actually morning briefings telling the squadron where they would fly, what the opposition looked like, what to expect, what to _not_ expect, objectives, targets, and other high value targets on the ground or in the air.

According to the map, the frontline had stalled outside of Retorinc. The Rotarians had improvised airfields in place of those destroyed as the Tellanians were forced to retreat under the overwhelming assault. Most of what the squadron intercepted were bombers, fighter-bombers, and escort fighters. Word was that Rotiart had built massive artillery pieces that they fixed to train cars and used to rain shells down on the cities and towns. These so-called 'railguns' were listed as TDAAC, (_Target: Destroy At All Costs_). If you saw a railgun you bombed it, shot at it, pissed on it, spit at it, whatever you could do to knock it out of commission.

Bertram finished scraping ice off the wings and then headed back inside. By his watch, it was time for breakfast. Following that, _if_ he managed to get what passed for breakfast down, he and his squadron would head for the briefing room.

As he opened the door, he heard a stuttering noise. Looking up, he saw a PF16 landing, its engine was spewing smoke. Bertram cringed as the pilot set the plane down hard, then watched as the landing gear buckled and the plane skidded down the runway and into a snowbank. Shaking his head, he went inside just as the chief mechanic began a tirade of Tellanian curses against the green and inexperienced pilot.

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In the mess hall, Bertram spotted Ayatane, Miller, and Kani sitting and trying to make heads or tails of the breakfast. Bertram got a bowl, walked over and sat down with them. Ayatane looked at him and shook his head.

"Cleaning the ice off again eh? Remind me the next time I see Reyson to drop a bucket full of snow on him. He should have told us about the weather." Miller huffed at this.

"Give it a rest Michijo, no one predicted this weather. Not even the Tellenians were prepared for it."

"Bah! It's only because of Ivan that we know what to do with ice. Most of the Tellanians just douse their planes with boiling water then wonder how the hell their wings ice up midflight! I envy Kani and Sahna though, their fur keeps them warm in this damn snow. All we have are these damn light coats we were issued for _warm_ weather! I thought it was only the Royal Army that got their gear screwed up this bad." Bertram laughed as he sat down and took the first spoonful of what looked like (and what he hoped it was) oatmeal.

"Yeah Ayatane, just think, somewhere in the Army supplies is a box of goods labeled 'Ship to: Port Autre' and dated 1710." Kani looked up from her breakfast curiously.

"Port Autre? Where's that?" Bertram chuckled.

"Port Autre was a city built in 1560 on a small island in the Sohndarin Gulf. The Gulf is bordered by Schildhaven, Syllia, and Tellanos and was the sight of many naval battles during Tellanos and Syllia's bloody history as enemies. The city became a major port in 1700 due to it's closeness to Tellanos' trade routes to it's island colonies and was the 'gateway' to Syllia's ports. In 1705, Tellanos laid a naval blockade and was able to stop all Syllian attempts to end the siege. In the end Syllia stopped trying and instead sent a wing of earth dragons and a group of water dragons to the gulf. The water dragons created a storm which destroyed the entire Tellanian fleet and evacuated the townsfolk, then the earth dragons sank the island rendering it useless to the enemy. Funny thing is that earth dragons and researchers are, to this day, still searching for the ruins of the city and hoping to raise the island for study."

Kani looked at Bertram with wide eyes as if trying to contemplating sinking an island.

"You're wondering why sink an island? Heh, in war people do stupid and crazy things. For instance: the battle of Tondrieg in 1840 was won when the Tellanians burned the town and the crops. The Syllian advance stalled and they could no longer proceed against the enemy and was forced to withdraw. When men realize the thing they are after no longer exists, they cease fighting. The ruins of Tondrieg stand to this day, on the borders of both Syllia and Tellanos. The question is: what is Rotiart after?"

At that moment, a Tellanian pilot came running in. His head turned to looked at Bertram, then he came running over.

"Lieutenant de Launces? Your squadron is ordered to scramble at once. Scout planes saw a large number of enemy bombers heading towards Retorinc, by all accounts at least three-hundred bombers escorted by only a small number of fighters. If it lessens the shock, my squadron has been ordered up as well. You will hardly be alone up there." Kani looked at the young pilot and tilted her head to one side curiously.

"Forgive me but, aren't you a little young to be a squadron leader?" Much to her surprise, he nodded, although somewhat ruefully.

"I am but we have no choice. My squadron leader bought it in the last engagement. All the other veterans are assigned to other, more important, squadrons and my wing is made of completely of nuggets so because I actually got an enemy last time, they gave me the squadron. Now, if that's all for questions, we need to take off now!"

At that moment, the sirens began blaring. Pilots all across the mess hall leapt from their tables and ran to their planes. Much to the chagrin of the cook, many pilots simply (and literally) dropped everything and followed their comrades. Outside, Bertram found his squadron already starting their planes and the first squadrons were taking off.

Wasting no time, Bertram started his plane's engine, pushed the throttle to full power and gunned it down the runway, pulling up sharply into a steep take-off ascent. As he withdrew the landing gear, he keyed his mike.

"This is Paladin, I'm up. Two-Four-Two Squadron, link up with me and the other Tellanos wings and set course three-zero-zero, north-by-northwest. Destination: Retorinc!"

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Okay everyone! Here it is, the first branch in the story. Everyone, now is the time I ask you to PM me or state in your reviews which front you would like to see first:

**Front Number 1: Tellanos Front**: _With Rotiart Air forces breathing down the neck of the Federation capital, and the front line growing ever closer to the besieged capital, Bertram and 242 Squadron now fly against an overwhelming enemy force. Is it to victory, or to defeat?_

**Front Number 2: Callinar Islands Front: **_While Rotiart focuses on the land invasion of Tellanos, their ally Callinar sails to conquer the islands south of the continent. To make matters worse, they have also sent a force to invade the Blue Isles. Josh de Launces, Commander of the RNV Interceptor, part of Task Force Echo 15, sails to reclaim the occupied islands and then sail to relieve the Federation forces besieged at Port Grand Vista. However, with only antiquated information about Callinar's military and next to nothing known about Rotiart's navy, is Josh sailing into a battle for the ages, or a trap?_

**Front Number 3: Avalon: **_With Spyro and his family safely back at Warfang, he finds himself occupied with helping the cheetahs, wolves, atlawa, and moles train alongside the Praetorian military. Yet when an unforeseen event threatens Warfang, can Ignitus rise to the challenge as the new Commander of the Avalon Dragonguard? Will Warfang remain the impregnable city fortress it has always been? Or is the city doomed to fall to an unforeseen enemy?_

Well there it is...the three fronts all lined up for you all. A word of caution: Choose wisely, for in all wars, neglecting one front can spell disaster for the others. Translation: In keeping with the story flow, the fronts you do not choos will likewise advance. The advancement is minor so your really won't be missing anything. In the furture, these advancements will be restricted to minor operations taking place at the same time within the story.

Again, please let me know in PMs or reviews which front you wish to see first. Well, ya'll take care and enjoy the story! Visitor and random reviews are also welcome.

**There is also a poll up now so if you do not wish to review but want to be heard, please go to my profile and choose your favorite.**

FYI: I'm still working on Part 3 of the tech guide so it still needs a little polish. It'll be up as soon as I find the section in my book of tanks that discusses amphibious tanks.


	7. Crimson Skies

Okay everyone! Here is what you voted on! By one vote, this chapter will be focusing on the Tellanos Front. I thank all of you for reading the story and also I thank those who voted for their time. Now then, onto the show!

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE, ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 6: Crimson Skies

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(_Fifty Miles outside Retorinc, one hour after scramble order issued_)

The altimeter read ten-thousand feet and was holding steady despite the buffeting winds. Bertram again looked to the left and then right, picking out his squadron from among the dozens upon dozens of Syllian and Tellanian aircraft. Chamberlain wasn't the only air base that recieved the scramble order. The air bases at Tovas, Gregori, Calpernis, and Fodern had sent every available aircraft they could and they had been joining the force two or three squadrons at a time until they numbered roughly two-hundred fifty if Bertram's eyes were right.

The commander of the force, Major Dimitri Fastov, came over the radio, his thick accent almost making what he said incomprehensible.

_"Comrades! We are closing on the Capital of Retorinc! I want all planes to make sure your guns are armed and ready to fire at a moment's notice. We are about to be joined by Retorinc's own Air Squadron. They also have several bombers that have been modified to serve as gunships; these planes will serve as flying fortresses and will help us engage the enemy bombers. Two-Four-Two, proceed ahead with One-Six-Six, One-Six-Seven, and One-Seven-Four Squadrons and check for the enemy vanguard. If the intel is right, we should be seeing the enemy in about ten minutes."_ Bertram keyed the mike and angled his plane out of the formation.

"Two-Four-Two roger. Proceeding to Air Grid Two-Seven-Seven."

_"Two-Four-Two Squadron this is Retorinc Air Control, we have multiple targets on radar, they appear to be sixty miles out and closing. Reports from the Twenty-First Armored also indicate the enemy has moved three of their railguns closer to the city for bombardment. If any of your planes have bombs, we would be glad to see those cannons cratered."_

"Paladin copies. Rapier, Mace, you two have bombs, Hayate, Snowman, you two have rockets, right? You four break off and take out those cannons, the rest of us will stay here and fight off the bombers and keep the fighters occupied. Hayate, you have the command of the group. Bring them back safely."

_"Hayate copies. Taking formation lead. Good hunting!"_

As the four planes broke off and flew towards the coordinates stated, Bertram looked up into the sky. Cloud cover was thick but the sun was shining. Remembering a trick Reyson told him, he flipped down the yellow-tinted monocle he had fixed to his goggles and looked in the same place. Where once there was nothing but clouds and glare, Bertram could now make out several dozen airplanes at high altitude. He knew that Tellanos only had their two engine PHB22's up at the moment and these aircraft were far bigger. The entire enemy formation was made of large four engine bombers, and despite what they had been told, the sky buzzed with single and double engine fighters.

"All planes, enemy above! Bombers and fighter escorts! Everyone, engage! Two-Four-Two, let's hope these cannons do their jobs!"

As one, the fighter formation, pitched up and climbed towards the enemy formation which appeared to be staying at eighteen thousand feet. Bertram glanced at his altimeter and saw it pass twelve thousand feet and climb steadily. Apparently, the Rotiart bombers had belly gunners who were watching for attack from below and tracers began arcing past the incoming planes. The fighters around the lead bomber formation broke off and dived at them, guns blazing.

Bertram lined up a fighter coming at him and pressed the trigger. He watched in grim satisfaction as the cannon rounds ripped through the enemy plane's engine and tore the left wing off. He rolled to the right to miss the falling wreckage and then lined up another plane, fired, and dropped that one as well. Next to him, Jake opened fire, his rounds shredding the enemy before him.

Three more enemy fighter engaged him, as Bertram engaged one that overshot, two Tellanos fighters from One-Six-Six Squadron chased off the others. A moment later, the radio keyed on.

_"This is Anvil One to Paladin, are you all right sir?"_

"Paladin to Anvil One, thanks for the assist."

_"Anytime sir. One-Six-Six and One-Six-Seven will take care of these gnats, please take your squadron and engage the bombers. The civilians in Retorinc haven't yet completely evacuated."_

"Copy that. Everyone else hear that? Civilians are still in danger in the capital, engage the bombers so they have a chance to flee!"

_"This is Chaser, I was about to suggest the exact same thing if you weren't. I'm already behind one of these behemoths."_

Bertram looked up and saw Kani's plane angled behind one of the larger bombers and she was peppering it with shot but to seemingly no effect. Her rounds had shredded the right side of the bomber's split rudder and peppered the top section of the fuselage but otherwise were doing little to no damage.

"Chaser! The bombers are too big to take down shooting the fuselage like that! Line up behind the engines or strafe the cockpit from above or below!" Her reply was acidic at best.

_"I'm trying but every time I try to climb or dive, their gunners bracket me! These guys are worse than a bad case of fleas!"_

"Hold on, I'm coming."

Bertram angled the nose up and lined up with the bomber Kani was aiming at and opened fire. He misjudged the speed however and the bullets missed the cockpit and instead riddled the underbelly. Kani was quick with her 'praise'.

_"I thought you said you'd stike the coc-"_

She didn't finish what she was saying as a detonation from inside the bomber's ordnance bay ripped the plane apart, sending shrapnel into the nearby bombers to the left and right of it, including sending one of its left wing propellors through the cockpit of the lead bomber in another formation. That one explosion had just downed three bombers and disabled four more! A Federation pilot who was engaging the bombers further back came over the radio with a whoop and a congradulations, then went right back to work. Bertram was now alongside Kani and could see her slackjawed expression. He smiled and keyed the radio.

"Well I guess that's one way to skin a cat."

_"WHAT?!"_

Bertram cringed as Sahna's voice came over his headset, drowning out Kani's laughter at the poor choice of phrase. Bertram quickly amended his phase and then, still blushing, engaged the formation of bombers he had 'decapitated'.

_(Somehow, I know I'm not going to hear the end of this...)_, he thought as he lined up another shot, this time striking the cockpit and watching this now unpiloted bomber careen into the flight path of another bomber.

Suddenly, tracers flew by his cockpit as a Rotiart fighter plunged down at him. Rolling at the last second, Bertram dodged a second volley and wheeled about managing to engage the enemy plane. Looking on the fuselage of the plane, Bertram made out its ID number: RS2-15A. He could also see there were forty-seven score marks under the canopy. He immediately recognized the ID number as well as the kill count:

He was engaged with the enemy pilot who had given Reyson trouble over Sanijo: Lieutenant Dieter Muntz.

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(meanwhile on another part of the battlefield)

Ayatane grimaced and let loose a tirade of curse words that would have made a sailor blush as he shot down yet another enemy fighter. Though they were at the spot where they the railguns were _supposed_ to be, all he and his group had found was wing upon wing of enemy planes and they were quickly enveloped in the dogfight over the Federation and Rotiart forces below.

Though they were assisted by other Federation Squadrons, the 305th and the 211th, they were still slugging their way through enemy heavy interceptors. If not for the cannons installed on the planes, Ayatane seriously doubted they would have made a dent in the plane's armor. Annoyed, he lined up another and a quick burst (and a lucky hit to the engine and canopy) sent yet another enemy plane spiraling down.

_"Damn! I thought __**our**__ planes were built to be tough; but these Rotarian planes are built like tanks!"_ Miller's voice came over the radio. Apparently he, like Ayatane and the others, was highly annoyed at the resistance of the enemy's planes. At that moment, Ivan came over the radio, his normal calm attitude frayed by the constant attacks.

_"For me it is not so much the enemy's endurance but their thrice damned numbers. For every one I shoot down, three rise up to take his place!"_

_ "They are numerous because you do not have a tail gunner my friend."_ Came Mitchell's voice as he flew past, guns blazing. Ayatane flipped his plane into a barrel roll to prevent colliding with an enemy plane that was fly into him. as he leveled out, he saw a bright flash in the distance and a few moments later, a large artillery shell impacted the frozen ground near the Federation forces. It didn't take a genius to figure out what kind of artillery could lob a shell like that.

"Guys, I believe I've found the railguns. There is one about ten miles west of us, near that destroyed train station. I'm going in, can anyone fly on my wing?"

Miller, Mitchell, and Ivan answered negative but a reply came from the Tellanos planes.

_"This is Icebrand with the Three-Zero-Five. Myself and two others will escort you to target. I also ask that you take a moment to identify the railguns you engage, intelligence believes that the Rotarian's prized railgun, codename 'Olympus', has been stationed in the area. If they lose Olympus, they will lose one of their most strategic weapons against Retorinc's walls."_ Ayatane huffed at the name of the railgun.

"Olympus huh? As in the ancient home of the gods of yore? I wonder who had the balls to name it _that_."

_"According to the intel, the designer of the weapon, a Lord Otto Mechanos, named all of his special 'pet' projects. Besides Olympus, there are two smaller railguns: Sturm Wut and Rot Kaiser. These guns are the biggest threats to the capital city at the moment and must be dealt with immediately."_

As Ayatane closed on the train-mounted gun he had seen fire, he caught a glimpse of a red diamond and crossed black sabers and radioed the emblem. A moment later, one of the Federation pilots came over the radio, surprise evident in his voice.

_"My God! Hayate, I believe you have found the Rot Kaiser! If intel is correct, then its sister, Sturm Wut, should be nearby. However, once the Kaiser falls silent, it is likely the Rotarians will begin withdrawing their guns until the air raid is over, starting with the Olympus."_

"Well we just have to be quicker then, don't we?" Ayatane took a second to look around the area where the first railgun was stationed and then saw another some fifteen miles further back at the Danislav community substation.

"I think I've found the sister. Fifteen miles back at the substation, looks like she's still being set up."

_"This is Scythe, I copy you. My group is moving to engage the Sturm Wut. Hayate, you and your group engage the Rot Kaiser."_

Ayatane looked around and saw a new group flying with them, the leader's plane was painted silver with red highlights and held a grim reaper like etching on the fuselage. They were accellerating towards the substation with the intent to destroy the other railgun.

Marking his target, Ayatane did a wingover and dove at the railgun, flipping the release switch on his plane at the same time. As soon as the crosshairs were over the artillery section of the train, he began flipping the fire switches to the rockets. Each rocket took off and jarred the plane slightly as it launched, a white vapor trail streaming behind them.

Five rockets impacted the railgun, destroying its baces, another went wide and collapsed the signal box onto the two locomotives, another actually struck the barrel causing it to droop, and the last one struck the ammunition car behind the gun, detonating the shells inside and sending it, and the crew car behind it, sky high. With a metallic shriek, the gun barrel buckled in half and the carriage turned over and smashed into the ground, the shell that was in the process of being loaded detonated, blowing up the breach, compressor, and buffer of the gun and creating a massive fireball.

Ayatane didn't have long to admire his handiwork however as several dozen nearby anti-air guns opened up on him and his group. He went low to strafe some of the gunners and passed by a position so closely he could see the Rotarian gunner's face. There was no question he had just pissed off the enemy and now they were out for blood. One thing that horrified him though was at the last moment, he pulled up and dodged tracers being fired from a gun emplacement on a hospital. He keyed his radio and informed his group and his wing of what he had seen.

Another explosion in the distance got his attention and Ayatane looked to see the spot where he had seen the other railgun burning as well. Smiling inwardly, he heard the announcement as well as the cheering from the Tellanian ranks. The cheering stopped when something else came over the radio.

_"Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is Scythe, I've come under fire from enemy AA! It's the Olympus! They're moving the Olympus along the old number seven track! Any aircraft with bombs or rockets engage them before they retreat! I repeat: the Olympus is-"_

Ayatane saw a flash of light coming from where Scythe had been. Glancing over, he saw the burning wreckage of the plane falling from the sky. From the position of the large hole that had destroyed the plane, it was impossible for Scythe to have survived. He heard a Tellanian pilot mutter a prayer over the radio before turning back.

"This is Hayate, does anyone, Syllian or Tellanian have any bombs or rockets left?"

All planes who answered him did so in the negative. All ordnance had been expended. As he turned to watch the railgun slink away, he heard something over the radio.

_"Attention all aircraft, I believe you all said you had a pest problem did you not?"_

Ayatane immediately keyed his radio, recognizing the voice.

"Colonel Hartwig?! When did you arrive back?" Hartwig's laughter echoed for a moment as his aircraft came into sight.

_"Just got back a few hours ago. My group landed at Chamberlain, didn't even have time to take a piss as we were immediately ordered back into the air as 'special support'. Now then, Hayate, what is the situation?"_

Ayatane told Hartwig of the railgun that was escaping and the situation as it stood. Afterwards, Hartwig came over the radio again.

_"This is the Syllian Two-One-Zero bomber wing requesting air cover from any Syllian and Tellanian fighters. We have bombs and we are making our run on the Olympus. Our gunships with us are also going to lend assistance by cratering any AA positions that reveal themselves."_

At that moment, all of Hartwig's planes revealed themselves, much to the shock, and delight, of the Tellanian and Syllian forces. The 210 Bomber wing was comprised of seven Syllian HB-32 heavy bombers and three GS-28 Gunships. Hartwig's bomber, another HB-32, was in the lead and was painted in national colors but also had Hartwig's own 'flair' for colors.

Inwardly, Ayatane flinched, wondering how Bertram would react to the color scheme of the bomber once he saw it. It was no secret that Bertram had watched Joshua paint while he was growing up and, once he had taken up painting as well, had somewhat attained an art sense. Though Bertram devoted more time to poetry and writing than to art, he was still as much of a painter as his brother.

Regardless of the incredibly loud and clashing colors of the bomber, Hartwig was now the senior officer on the field and he had given the order and request for escort. Ayatane and several planes fell into formation around the bombers and within moments, they were swarmed by Rotiart fighters, desperate to protect their sole remaining railgun. Again, Ayatane spared a glance at the bombers and silently prayed they would make it through.

Regardless of who dropped the bombs, one thing was certain: _Olympus_ would fall.

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Hartwig manually adjusted the bombers engines so that the gunships could take positions with them. Out of the right window, past his co-pilot, he could see the fighters forming up and preparing to escort them to the _Olympus_. Checking the coordinates again, Hartwig turned on the bomber's internal radio system.

"Pilot to Bombadier...Pilot to Bombadier...Claus! Wake up down there! The enemy train is currently heading North-by-Northwest at a speed of about forty miles per hour. Factor in our current airspeed and plot a course so that our bombs flatten the entire railgun."

_"Colonel! We just recieved a radio message from Tellanos command. Our orders are not only to destroy the Olympus, but also to destroy any and all intact rail lines the enemy can use to bring in supplies. If we can delay or stop the siege of Retorinc, we may just stop the enemy's momentum."_

"Copy that. Okay, we have our orders...Look alive gunners! We've got company!"

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Airman Conrad Smith was busy tinkering with his gun when the radio piped up throughout the plane warning of incoming aircraft and of AA guns opening up. Conrad opened the breach of his 37mm cannon and loaded it. He then opened the gun view and cycled it to the left and took aim at an AA unit near an old dilapidated water tower and keyed his radio.

"Starboard Thirty-Seven ready...firing!"

The cannon recoil caused the plane to jump but otherwise didn't do anything else. Through the gun sight, he saw the round impact the remains of the water tower which fell over onto the AA position. The radio keyed and laughter followed.

_"I confirm one kill of a water tower and an indirect kill of an AA position. Nice shooting Smith!"_

Conrad sighed and reloaded the gun, cycled further left and fired again. This process of load, cycle, fire, reload was all part of Conrad's day. He remembered the first time he'd seen the gunship and his own attitude towards putting not one, but _two_ 37mm cannons in the belly of a refitted bomber. He had honestly thought the idea completely insane. Then of course there was the defensive armaments, several large caliber machineguns and even some flak cannons. As far as gunships went, the GS-28 type was the smallest. The next largest is the GS-30 and even bigger than that is the GS-32, a gunship model of the HB-32 heavy bomber. But, as the pilot of the gunship was fond of saying: _Big things come in small packages._

He kept firing and reloading his gun at the AA positions and drowned out the _bang-bang-bang _of the flak cannons, the _Boom_ of the second cannon, and the constant _ratta-tata-tata_ of the machineguns. At least until a flak burst shook the plane and a scream of pain reached his ears. He paused long enough to hear the radio come on, the voice of Foster, their tail-gunner, was filled with fear and pain.

_"T-This is Foster! Breighton is down, our left flank is vulnerable!"_

_ "Smith! Get back there and man that gun, Naris will take over for you."_

Not wasting precious time, Conrad left his gun and ran out the door that seperated the first cannon from the second and then through the hatch that opened to the waist guns. What he found there horrified him.

Airman Geoff Breighton, a friend of Conrad's from basic, lay slumped in the middle of the aisle. Foster had returned to his gun and was firing at anything that moved in front of his gunsights. The other waist gunner, Stevenson, was swearing a blue streak and giving the enemy the whole nine yards. A closer inspection confirmed his worst fears that Breighton was no longer breathing. A lucky piece of shrapnel had cut him across the aorta; the entire front of his flight uniform, along with his gun and most of his ammunition was soaked with arterial spray. Swallowing back bile, Conrad grabbed the blood-covered machinegun, aimed through the sights and began firing at the enemy planes coming in on the supposed 'weak' side.

The twin mount large caliber guns made slow work of the enemy planes. True to the briefing, the Rotiart planes were built like tanks and could take a lot of bullets before going down. Instead of using conventional tactics (which meant shoot so many holes in the target it can't fly), he opted for a new approach. In training he had earned the nickname 'Snipe' from his comrades for his tendency _not_ to hold down on the machinegun trigger and hope for a 'Hail Mary'.

Instead, he took careful aim and fired three to five round bursts at the cockpits of the enemy planes. These proved to be not as sturdy as the rest of the plane and soon Conrad was getting into an old groove from back in his days hunting with his grandfather: aim, lead, fire, shift. Aim, Lead, Fire, Shift. Seven out of ten times he depressed the dual trigger an enemy plane went down, the glass canopy shattered and stained red.

Apparently the enemy planes noticed how effective he was doing and they actually tried _not_ to get bracketed by his guns. Still, though, the old saying is: when things are looking their brightest, brace for disaster. For Conrad, disaster struck a rather low blow this time.

An explosion shook him off his feet and he fell back onto Breighton's corpse. Immediately the radio came on and for the first time since serving with this crew, Conrad heard fear in the pilot's voice.

_"We have been hit by a large caliber anti-air cannon. We have lost the starboard side thirty-seven and we have also lost our starboard engine and can no longer move with the formation. We are breaking off to return to Chamberlain, prepare to-"_

Another flak blast shook the plane and Conrad felt the plane dip down slightly. A sense of dread filled him as he left the gun and leapt through the compartments. He reached the door to the cockpit and glanced through the open area to the nose of the plane. The glass nose was shattered and the nose gunner's body was slumped over his gun. He threw open the door and was greeted by the copilot, wounded, trying to keep the plane up. The pilot was like the nose gunner, dead, and slumped over the controls.

Acting out of instinct, Conrad unbuckled the pilot and shoved the body aside and then grabbed the controls. In the back of his mind he thought it ironic that he, who had flunked pilot training due to not understanding the academic aspects but was the highest scoring recruit on the solo and training flights, was now at the controls of the gunship. His arms were strong and well muscled, enabling him to handle the controls with an iron grip. The copilot looked at him with mixed expressions of hope and worry.

"Smith, can you do this? Can you handle this plane?" Conrad looked at the busted controls and broken gauges and sighed.

"Do you mean 'can I keep this plane flying'? That answer is no. We're down one engine, the right wing is barely hanging together, and we've got a hole the size of a bookshelf in the belly. Lieutenant, help me take her down to fifteen hundred feet. Does the radio still work?"

"No, it's dead. Intercom is to."

"Alright, help me take her out of formation. We can't make it to Chamberlain but we _can_ make it to Retorinc."

The copilot nodded and returned his attention to the controls and together they slowly descended and turned the gunship towards the airport.

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The gunners on Hartwig's plane were firing rapidly at any and all enemy planes coming into their fields of fire. Bursts of flak created hundreds of black puffs of smoke against the blue sky. Hartwig felt the controls of his plane jerk with every single burst that hit too close to home. Once he cursed as a burst hit just underneath them. He could have swore he saw the altimeter jump by about five feet. He absently recalled the battle over the sea fortress _Poseidon_ all those years ago. The flak bursts, the flashes and screams as a member of his crew was hit, the feeling of dread when he realized he couldn't land his crippled B-2 safely and forcing a crash landing on the battlefield.

He'd lost half of his crew that day and had come too close to losing Amelia, his wife who back then had been his copilot. He'd also lost his nose gunner, one waist gunner, and his tail gunner to a strafing enemy plane but he'd managed to land the biplane bomber on two engines and no landing gear. His bombadier, Jigger, had taken up air racing after the war and Bishop, the other waist gunner had (predictably) joined the clergy after the war; although now he had rejoined the RAF as a pilot and was known among those of the seventy-sixth bomber wing as 'the Flying Father'.

To him, every flak burst was a specter that promised only death. Every plume of smoke was the shell that had killed a crew member during the war all those years ago, every explosion a clap of thunder that heralded the fall of another friend. Hartwig resolved to not fly into the flak if he could help it. He might not be able to save everybody but he could at least protect his crew. Watching the dogfight occuring all around the bombers, he keyed the intercom to the bombadier.

"Claus; how much further?"

_"We are almost on top of them but they are in a an S curve. They will straighten out but we'll have about one minute to drop the bombs on them before they go into a tunnel ahead."_ Hartwig looked ahead and indeed saw the track straighten out right at the mouth of a tunnel. Spying the track, he got an idea and switched the radio to the squadron frequency.

"This is Blue Knight to Jolly Roger, come in Roger."

_"This is the gunship Jolly Roger. How may I help you today Colonel?"_

"There is a stretch of track ahead of our target that seems to be remarkably intact. Think your thirty sevens can remedy that?"

_"You want us to just destroy the track or collapse the tunnel entrance?"_

"Destroy the track please but if your gunners are feeling lucky and creative..."

_"Copy that. One railbreaker coming right up. Heh, __**this **__will piss'em off!"_

Hartwig had to smile as the lumbering GS-28 came up near level flight and watched as its starboard 37mm cannon rotated toward the front and then lowered by about fifteen degrees. There was a moment of what seemed to be peace before the cannon fired. Another pause, and then fired again.

The first shell hit just to the left of the tracks. The second round struck the track right at the mouth of the tunnel. Apparently, the train crew saw the track being destroyed and applied the brakes. At that moment, the armored cars that served as protection from land and air based threats opened fire on the gunship and bomber formation. Unphazed by the sudden resistance, the gunship began firing its 20mm cannons as well as starting a 'mad minute' with the 37mm cannon. At eighteen thousand feet, they were too high up and too close to the railgun for Hartwig to see what damage they were doing but he heard the gunship's crew over the radio as they cheered.

_"This is Jolly Roger, tunnel is collapsed and the train is stopped! Blue Knight, she's all yours."_ Hartwig nodded to his copilot and keyed the intercom.

"Pilot to Bombadier. Pilot to Bombadier: Open bomb bay doors, open bomb bay door."

There was a sharp _clang_ as the doors opened as well as a rush of cold air as the bomber became open to the atmosphere. Hartwig flipped three switches and then keyed the mike again.

"Okay Claus, I'm hands free, she's your bird now."

"Copy that sir. Adjusting course three degrees right...lowering speed...racks are armed...okay, three...two...one...bombs away!"

The sound of the metal clamps releasing echoed through the plane as the bomber began dropping its entire five ton payload onto the now immobile railgun. A few moments later, the Claus whooped and keyed the radio.

"Target is hit! I repeat the _Olympus_ is hit! Scratch one railgun."

As Hartwig and his crew cheered, they suddenly heard something through the radio.

_"Attention all aircraft, you are all cleared to return to base. The enemy is in full retreat! Repeat: The enemy is retreating!"_

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Bertram jinked left and then rolled right to try and shake Muntz off his tail, so far he'd avoided getting his tail shot off but was unable to get behind his adversary. Occasionally, he could see planes with similar ID tags going after Tellanian or Syllian planes but apparently, Muntz had ordered them to leave him be.

He noticed the bombers begining to turn around and flee the battlefield and assumed Muntz was here to minimize losses. The next communication shot that theory full of holes.

_"So. You are the famous Bertram de Launces, yes? The youngest child of James de Launces and also the protégé of the Blue Baron, Reyson Havvers? From what I have seen so far, I am unimpressed. Are you going to continue running until the cowards in my own air corps finish their retreat and order me to do likewise, or are you going to turn and fight me like a man?"_

What Muntz didn't know was that Bertram was actually taking the measure of his plane, seeing how deep it could turn, climb, and descend, its top speed, and also, the measure of the man behind the machine. He had an idea and then shifted his grasp. For some reason not doubting Muntz has changed his frequencies, Bertram keyed his radio.

"Lieutenant Muntz, your reputation precedes you. I know you gave my mentor some trouble in Sanijo but you also showed honor. Unfortunately, I am not my mentor, or my father, and I have no intention of being shot down today."

Kicking the rudder and pulling the stick as hard as he could, Bertram flipped the plane over into a near skidding turn then reversed his grip and actually _flipped_ the P-29 on its axis and opened fire on Muntz's plane.

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Muntz cursed as he felt rounds slam into his plane and managed a wide-eyed glance at the plane. He had not expected such a maneuver and was actually shocked, yet at the same time, he felt exhilarated. He quickly mimicked the turn but his plane was too heavily armored to effectively close the turn. He opened fire and saw his rounds go wide, missing Bertram who had, at the last moment, pushed his plane into a dive to escape the line of fire.

He dived his plane after the Syllian ace, hoping to get close for his F19's cannons to brutalize the Syllian aircraft. Yet as he closed, Bertram flared his airbrakes and shot past him, getting back on Muntz's tail and firing again.

Unlike last time which was just rounds striking the armor, this time Bertram's rounds struck the rudder of the plane making it feel heavy and sluggish in his hands. At that moment, his radio keyed in and he heard his commander over the comm.

_"Lieutenant Muntz! The order to retreat has been given. Stop fooling around and follow your wingmen, we can ill afford to lose you."_ Muntz scowled.

_(Me as a pilot or as a poster boy?)_ He then switched his radio back to the Syllian frequency (a closely guarded secret of his) and spoke.

"Well done Lieutenant de Launces. You have disabled my controls. I shall withdraw for now but rest assured, we will meet again."

He clicked off his radio before he heard the reply and, trailing smoke, he changed course and followed the retreating bombers.

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Bertram gazed after the retreating enemy ace with relief. In the end, his squadron had lost no one and they had inflicted massive casualties of the enemy bomber corps. He angled his plane and rejoined with the others as they proceeded to Retorinc Airfield to land and refuel before returning to Chamberlain.

As they began to land, a radio flash began broadcasting through the planes and the land base.

_"This is the SBC Radio News, bringing the news of home to the men and women abroad. This is Steven Holwitz, reporting. First off, the old news: Earlier this week, as Task Force Echo-Fifteen deployed from the city of Sanijo, submarines from the Callinar Island Navy attempted to ambush and sink the fleet just outside of the harbor. Their plan failed however as the destroyer, RNV Interceptor, commanded by Lieutenant-Commander Joshua de Launces, and several flying boats of the Sanijo Port Authority as well as destroyer escorts, RNV Berkley and RNV Calloway engaged and destroyed two of the three submarines and, in a daring raid, managed to capture the third and final submarine. Unfortunately all intelligence aboard the submarine had been destroyed and most of the crew, including the captain and senior officers, were killed in the raid. Also, Archduke James de Launces welcomed his former students, Albert and Xavier Reed of Tellanos, as well as Prince Roberto del Eiya of Espan. The Dragon Mechanist and his students have secluded themselves in Launces' industrial district and are supposedly hard at work on new projects designed to aid the military."_

Bertram sighed upon hearing this and, noticing it was his turn to land, lowered his landing gear and prepared to land. As he did so, the broadcast continued.

_"In other news: Reports from the Callinar Island front seem promising as in the initial engagement, Section Five of Task Force Echo-Fifteen successfully liberated the occupied island of Kage in the Blue Island chain and sank five Callinar destroyers, two cruisers, and severely damaged one carrier with Syllian losses being two destroyer escorts, the RNV Tribal and RNV Garr, the light cruiser RNV Dare, and the grounding of the battleship, RNV Regal. Though it sustained light damage from a stray round, the RNV Interceptor remained afloat and once again distinguished itself in combat, this time acting as a shield for the crippled cruiser RNV Crucible. As of now, Echo-Fifteen is remaining in the Blue Isles, awaiting the second fleet to reinforce it before proceeding to the outer Callinar Islands."_

There was a pause and the sound of what seemed to be papers being shuffled and handed to the reporter. When he spoke again, his voice had a slight catch in it.

_"L-Ladies and G-Gentlemen... I have just recieved a report that I can...I cannot seem to believe...ahem...Ladies and Gentlemen, as of yesterday morning at ten, the independant nation of Avalon has become involved in the war as aircraft from a carrier force from Damoneni launched an airborne attack on Warfang. During the battle, Lord Spyro and Lady Cynder, assisted by their son, Commander Ignitus of the First Avalon Air Guard and the Praetorian Queen's Guard successfully repelled the enemy air and invading ground forces and with assistance from ships from the Royal Navy's Tenth Fleet, destroyed six enemy vessels but lost nearly twenty in the surprise attack including the Syllian battleship RNV Mysidia and Praetorian battlecruiser IPV Horst."_

Bertram quickly gave a prayer that his sister and her children were alright, then, as his wheels touched town, he heard the rest of the broadcast.

_ "The conflict that began with the surprise attack on Sanijo and the simultaneous invasion of the Federation of Tellanos has now become a near global scale conflict. I...I have just been handed yet another update. I...I regret to inform you all that...as of three hours ago, Port Grand Vista, the sole remaining Tellanian site of resistance behind enemy lines has fallen. It is unclear as to what has happened but it appears the city has been leveled. The hulls of several dozen ships still in port lie partially submerged as if scuttled by their own crews or destroyed by enemy ordnance. W-We will be back after these messages and as we try to confirm the story."_

As Bertram got out of his plane, he saw the faces of the Tellanian pilots and ground crew. Some were shocked, some horrified, some were angry, and others were sullen. Whether or not he believed the report, the fact remained that the Tellanains believed it.

The only base of resistance in Tellanos, and the birthplace of the Tellanian Federal Navy, had been crushed, and worst of all no one knew how.

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(Back in occupied Ursa, the staging area for the Rotiart Air Aggressor Force)

Dieter Muntz's plane landed roughly on the runway as he expected. Thankfully the damage proved less than what he had feared. Still however, he saw his commander, an ingnorant officer who was booted from the Griffon Corps (_supposedly_) when he tossed an insubordinate recruit into a dread griffon pit. Though the officer was a Colonel, he lacked a spine and often times would stutter and get tongue-tied while delivering orders or a rebuke.

Judging by his expresion, Muntz was about to recieve a rebuke rather than new orders. He diverted his attention to the sounds of squawking as dread griffons and their less aggressive, smaller, and more intelligent brethren were beginning their training patrols around the newly conquered territory. He brought his attention back to the Colonel when the man's heavy, iron-soled boots made a sharp _clank_ as he stopped before him.

"Well Lieutenant, please explain your behavior. Why did you ignore orders to retreat and continue engaging _one, single_ enemy plane? Why did you order your squadron to leave that one plane for you? Why didn't you protect our bombers?" Muntz made no effort to hide his contempt for the man who, by grace of rank and familial position alone, outranked him.

"To answer your first question _sir_. The enemy I was engaging was Bertram de Launces, the youngest son of the Dragon Mechanist, James de Launces, one of the pilots in the Bingo book. I reasoned that if he could be shot down the enemy would suffer a crushing blow to their morale. As for the order to retreat, it should _never_ have been given. Our bombers had enough bombs to level the entire city yet, they start crying over the radio that there are too many enemy planes they are ordered to retreat. Cowards do not deserve protection. To protect a coward who does not wish for the betterment of our fatherland is a _traitor_ pure and simple. As to why I wanted de Launces for myself? What better opponent and trophy than to claim to have shot _him_ down?"

The Colonel moved his mouth as if he wanted to say something but Muntz beat him to the punch.

"On another note. I was asked personally by Lord Mechanos to get an apprasal of the enemy aircraft and their pilot's experience, which I succeeded despite your yelling in my ear to retreat. Now then, I have a report to deliver to Lord Mechanos; _**personally**_. Good day, _sir_."

As he moved to step away from the Colonel, he moved to grab Muntz's arm. Muntz could hear the venom in his voice.

_"You thrice damned insubordinate cur. You had damn well better address me properly or I'll make your life a living hell."_ Muntz turned around, a dangerous glimt in his eyes.

"You'll do what now Colonel? Remember: as Rotiart's leading ace, I and my squadron accept orders and missions only from Lord Mechanos. Now then, let me clarify something for you. If you _try_ or even _think_ about threatening me or a member of my squadron again, neither your uncle or your rank will save you. Our missions, as I stated, come from Lord Mechanos himself, no go betweens, no dead drops, no telegrams complete with chocolates and flowers. Our briefings are top secret and the results we achieve are just as secret. A face to face meeting and briefing and his missions have been what has ensured victory after victory so far until today when you went against his orders and commanded a retreat. One more foul up like this and I wouldn't be surprised if you _'disappeared'_ like that young Griffon Corps recruit so many years ago. Now then, _good day_."

The Colonel shook with impotent rage at the ace as he walked into a hangar and moments later left in a car going into the city, but his words had rung true. Muntz's squadron, the 215th Elite Air Wing, answered only to Lord Mechanos and were the elite of the elite. To speak or go against them was to invite political, career, and possibly even actual suicide. No matter how insolent, how vulgar, or how tactless the 215th was, they furthered Mechanos' goals and through him, they furthered Rotiart's standing in the world.

To the laws of man, they were untouchable.

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Whew! Alright everybody, here's the chapter that was voted on. I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, please review and let me know how I did. Take care y'all!


	8. A Merciful Pause

Alright everyone! I'm back with yet another rivetting installation of World Fury. I'll tell you, ideas have the strangest trigger events you know? Here I was sitting in my room listening to some old music when I came across an old horror song that sent chills down my spine and it occurred to me.

I haven't even introduced the main antagonist, Mechanos, have I? Well, not to worry, I have now remedied that situation. Now then...(_click_)

(Beeping noise)...If you would like to make a call, please hang up or try again.

I hate dial up...

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 7: A Merciful Pause

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(Rotiart Principality, near city of Revant)

Dieter found himself gritting his teeth as the brakes on the train screeched to a halt. He couldn't avoid the astonished stares from the common populace nor could he avoid their equal astonishment that Mechanos' moving fortress, _Harbinger_, was what had been dispatched to collect him. Gazing at the train's odd shape, he began to feel somewhat fearful and sick looking the train over and wondered how any living being could build this monstrocity.

The _Harbinger_ was a cruel and cold machine. As if mocking the world and perhaps heaven above, Mechanos had modelled the engine, tender, and his personal office to resemble a moving cathedral, the rest of the train was car after car designed for workspace, labs, showrooms, and included a (rarely used and therefore decrepit looking) passenger/sleeper car. It also had several military railcars that housed anti-air guns, cannons, and tanks. All of which were, of course, manned and ready to repel any and all threats.

The looks of the machine were only the tip of the iceberg though. Mechanos had designed this train to scare the living daylights out of anyone who beheld it. All the glass in on the train was stained glass the color of roses (or blood) depending on what angle you viewed them at and plus they were one-way windows. You could see out but not in.

It was into the first car behind the 'office' that Dieter was brought into by Mechanos' aide. Stepping aboard felt close enough to stepping through the gates of Hell for some odd reason. Perhaps it was the temperature inside or perhaps that the Revant train station was built in what many believed was the most snow-covered and coldest part of the track. Either way, he began to sweat as soon as he stepped into the car.

Once inside, the doors slid shut and he was directed to a seat in the 'main lobby'. Looking to the door to the office, he noticed the two dread griffons Mechanos kept as 'pets'. One was named Balor, the other Lucian, and _both_ regarded him with an expression of mixed distrust, awareness, curiousity, and worst of all, _hunger_. It was no secret that dread griffons, again, unlike their gentler cousins, would consume _anything_ if they could get it within claw or beak distance. Adding to their behavior was their colors. While normal griffons bore gold fur and white feathers, dread griffons bore black fur, black feathers that had red tips, and worst of all were the smoldering red eyes that made them appear drunk but in fact were as keen as a dragon's. Dieter truly believed that if the chains holding the two creatures ever gave way while he was here, there wouldn't be enough of him left to bury.

He had just sat down when the train whistle sounded. It was a sound that made the normally cool and calm pilot's blood run cold. In a flair of 'creativity', Mechanos had affixed six steam whistles to the train and when the cord was pulled, all six whistles went off sounding very much like an out-of-tune chorus of the damned. He felt a shudder as the train began moving and he saw the train slide out of the station as if there was absolutely nothing wrong. Then again Mechanos was a lot of things but never a fool, he had spared no expense in designing a state of the art suspension system for the train ensuring that no matter what the grade of track or terrain, the train would keep running smoothly.

With the train underway, he took a moment to review the report he had typed up regarding the Syllian planes, paying special attention to the modified planes of Bertram de Launces' 242 Squadron as well as the copy of the After-Action Report that, undoubtably, Mechanos would raise a few questions about. He felt the train shift as it went into a turn and gazed out of the red stained glass window that all but dominated the room. In the distance he could see the snow covered peaks of the seven Angelus Mountains encircling the one volcano in the center.

The volcano, known to all Rotiart as 'the Demon Gate', was a prominent shape in the distance. It was always smoking yet only erupted once every ten years. In fact it was actually considered an ill omen for the volcano to _quit_ smoking. The twin cities of Certon and Notrec always stood at the foot of the largest of the Angelus Mountains known as Angel's Peak and thus were always out of the way whenever the volcano erupted. He recognized the track they were on now by seeing the north side of Angel's Peak.

They were on the stretch of railway only Mechanos himself traveled as it was a fast travel to any of his factory 'cities' or to his headquarters in Saro, or to the ferry that took him to his factory/fortress at the mysterious Black Sand Island. On this railway, the engineers could push the _Harbinger_ as fast as they (or Mechanos) wanted with no fear of any consequences.

The grandfather clock, ironically a Launces 1915 Royal Masterwork, chimed four times as the train rolled along and Dieter settled himself as much as he would allow himself to and awaited the appointed time Mechanos chose to permit him entry.

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(meanwhile, in Warfang)

Spyro awoke to the sound of Cynder's breathing beside him. He looked over to her and sighed happily. He began to recall details about the battle: the Praetorian force detecting the Damoneni force, the fighters engaging over the city, Ignitus and his wing engaging the landing craft. They had survived, all of them, thanks to Thera who apparently, had the same power as her father.

At the last moment, Thera had awakened her power and used a spirit gem to summon not only her own power, but also summon phantoms of Malefor and Retemed who helped Ignitus sink the Damoneni flagship and force the enemy to retreat. The phantoms then carried Thera back to city and laid her gently on the street near her home. Ignitus had been frantic until Malefor (for it was indeed him), chuckled and told him she had just expended most of her energy and needed rest. He had then faced Spyro and nodded.

_"Just because I no longer exist on this plane, doesn't mean I do not have an interest in it. I have a thousand years of ignorance and foolish pride to undo, and a thousand years of absense from my descendants I wish to rectify. James can summon the power of elemental crystals but Thera's power is much more potent as you have seen. When she awakes, she must rest for some time to regain her strength. Unlike her father, she cannot use this power at will. It can only be unleashed in times of urgency. Be forewarned though, those who commune with the spirits often tend to leave more and more of themselves in the spirit realm than they intend. My time grows short...Ignitus...take care of my granddaughter...she truly is a pure spirit."_

With that Malefor had vanished and Ignitus had taken Thera home and refused to leave her side until she awoke. As he lay alongside his mate, he began hearing the sounds outside in Warfang and looked to the window beside their bed and saw it had started raining. No doubt the water dragons who lived in the city trying to put out what few fires remained. Or, ancestors know, it could just be a natural occurence like the tide, or the wind, or the rising and falling of the sun. Not everything in the world was controlled by dragons.

His thoughts were interrupted when he felt Cynder shift beside him and open her eyes and yawned. Even to this day, seeing her like this, her tail wrapped around his, their wings partially out stretched to cover one another, her eyes glowing in the pre-dawn hours still made his heart race and his blood run hot. He smiled and nuzzled her gently as she awoke and returned the affection. She then looked outside and nearly made him laugh as she pouted. Cynder, truth be told, had never much liked the rain. She finally smiled, seeing she had gotten a laugh from him and got up out of the bed.

"So Spyro, what are we going to do first today?" Spyro had already planned to go check up on Thera and Ignitus but then got an idea.

"Oh, I don't know Cyn. I was thinking maybe we could lay around a bit more or perhaps go around the city and see what help we can offer." Cynder gave a mock look of shock and gazed at him.

"What about Thera and Ignitus? As well as the other kids? You aren't the least bit concerned about them?"

"Hmm...Maybe a little. I suppose we should check up on them first though before we do anything else, right?" Cynder smiled at him for a moment and then became serious.

"Do you think they'll be alright? I mean, the battle was only yesterday and so many of the defenders were injured." Spyro nodded and then looked out the window and gazed at the hospital where a number of dragons, humans, cheetahs, moles, wolves, and atlawa were being treated for injuries. His gaze then went towards the half-collapsed castle and the damaged temple.

At some point during the battle, a Praetorian pilot spotted a strange bomber flying over the city and had shot it down. The aircraft had then changed its course and crashed into the castle, destroying a tower and flattening the queen's garden. The bomber had markings that identified it as a Rotiart aircraft but other than that it seemed a complete enigma. One of the Praetorian officers had been trying to communicate via radio with their command but was apparently having no luck with the device. Eventually Spyro sighed and decided to leave the mystery aircaft to the Praetorians and followed Cynder out of their home and into the rain as they walked toward Ignitus and Thera's home.

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Ever since the humans began trading with Avalon, they had also began helping in various other ways. First, James had insisted that Avalon be treated as an independant nation and that any trade requests go through the Avalon monarchy as with any other nation. Furthermore, given the events that had been happening, it had been felt that Avalon at least have access to modern medicine. To that end, Doctor Franklin Stein, the surgeon who had saved so many lives in the Southlands Conflict, became an instructor of modern medicine at the Academy and had begun taking on promising students.

It was one of Stein's best students who greeted Spyro and Cynder as they came into Ignitus and Thera's home. The doctor was a wolf, standing about five foot eight by human standards, had black fur that shaded to grey on his paws and muzzle, and most peculiar of all, he bore a prosthesis on his left arm. Cynder recognized the wolf and nodded to him.

"Growlie, how is she? Is Thera alright?"

Garm, or Growlie as he preferred, a young wolf who been injured in the Southlands Conflict when Dalon besieged Warfang, nodded his head as he finished getting his equipment put away before visiting his next patient.

"She's doing fine Lady Cynder. She's awake, she's talking, and above all else, she's absolutely starving. I told Ignitus to keep her in bed and to tell the staff to give her as much as she wanted to recover her energy. It wasn't mana she expended in the battle but pure, raw, physical energy and that can only be recovered with bedrest and a few healthy and hearty meals. Now then, please tell Ignitus I'll be back to check on her this afternoon. Right now I've got to see a patient about a pain in his hindquarters. Good day."

With that, Growlie left the home and walked down the street whistling a tune he'd heard humans whistle on occasion. Spyro and Cynder went into Thera and Ignitus' bedroom and found Thera resting on the bed with her children with Ignitus passed out nearby. Poor Ignitus looked as if he hadn't slept since the day before yesterday (which truth be told he hadn't), and Thera looked just as exhausted. She was panting, her tongue was out, and her scales were actually wet to the touch from perspiration. Still, when Spyro and Cynder entered, she nudged at her kids who were asleep around her. Ignitus let out a particularly loud snore that made Thera giggle.

"The kids had the worst of it. Every instinct was telling them to either fight or flee and yet they could do neither. I'm still unsure of how okay Ignitus is to tell the truth. He moves and groans like someone wounded yet when I ask him, he denies everything. I swear sometimes I feel like I'm raising four little ones and one big baby." Cynder laughed at this and nodded.

"Indeed. I suppose that human phrase 'like father, like son' also translates to dragons as well. You won't hear a peep from Spyro under normal circumstances but get him alone and you'd think every joint from snout to tailblade aches." Thera joined Cynder in laughing while Spyro huffed indignantly and looked away, a slight reddish tint to his face though.

"I-I don't complain about aches _all_ the time. I mean come on I'm not even a quarter of Terrador or any other Guardian's age at the moment. There's still some life in this body of mine." He stretched his wings and popped a few joints for effect but then went wide-eyed and collapsed on the floor.

"Ouch...well...I should have expected that." Cynder, changing from amusement to worry then to frustration in the blink of an eye, sighed.

"You should have known better. Yesterday was the first time in years you've had to do any amount of combat flying as well as exhausting your mana not once or twice but three times. Even if you managed to save the docks from an incoming assault by helping Cyril create icebergs in the ocean, and helped Volteer create a lightning storm, _and_ helped Pyre conjure that firestorm that incinerated five flights of enemy bombers." Spyro looked up at his mate and sighed.

"You're forgetting calming the seas outside the harbor so the Praetorian subs could get a clean shot, creating a whirlwind that sank that battleship, using light to blind the enemy landing craft so that they ran aground on the shoals that Terrador and the other earth dragons created, creating a fog bank to hide an Espan ship that had been damaged, and lastly used convexity to destroy the enemy carrier group that was reinforcing them." Cynder nodded and placed a paw over his and smiled.

"There's that as well. In all honesty, it's all thanks to Ignitus, Thera, and you that we suffered so few casualties." Spyro smiled and nodded.

"Indeed. Thera? Do you remember anything at all about what happened?" THera looked down for a moment and nodded.

"I remember bits and pieces of it. I remember seeing poor Granite shot down and wishing I could do more to help. I just happened to reach for the spirit crystal dad gave me if I ever wanted to talk to him and then, nothing. The next thing I remember is waking up on the street with Malefor and Retemed beside me and speaking to Ignitus and you." Thera heard a light murmur and turned to see Ignitus stirring, one eye awake, the other closed.

"Yeah, what family did I marry? Your family always has some strange ability that rocks the foundations of dragonkind. First it was James who awakened his dragon blood, shapeshifted, and used crystals to destroy Dalon's forces and cleanse Malefor of corruption. Of course our kids also have that same ability, though they rarely, if ever, use it. Now you have the ability to summon the spirits of your ancestors, manifest them in physical, albeit temporary, bodies and fight alongside them with the same combat style as your father. Not that that's a bad thing. In my opinion things need to be stirred up every once in a while to keep life interesting; it's just that you and James are so...so, _flashy_ when you do it. While you were asleep I had to do everything except bar the door to keep Elder Volteer from asking so many questions and also a member of the council who screams 'bloody murder' every time a pin drops and pops the bubble of idleness." Thera looked at her mate in shock.

"You kept Elder Volteer _and_ a member of the King's council from disturbing me? I thought you were crazy Iggy, but now I can see you're nuts." Ignitus smirked and looked at her, eyes aglow with humor.

"I thank you."

At that moment, Willard, the human butler whom Thera had hired came in. A short, squat man with thinning hair, hazel eyes, and a voice that sounded rough, he had been a friend of Bertram Ross, the former stewart of the Launces household and had evidently trained alongside him in manners, etiquete, and various other things. He held a piece of paper in his hand and nodded to Spyro and Cynder.

"Excuse me milady, a telegram for you from your father. Would you like me to read it for you ma'am?" Thera thought about shifting but evidently her body was still too exhausted and she eased herself back down onto the bed.

"Please give me the details."

Willard nodded and read the message, a short list of hello's, how are you's, how are the children, and also an update that her younger brother, Nick, was now out of the hospital and recovering in Launces with Lysa. Turns out Nick had become quite smitten with a nurse who had become just as infatuated with him.

Joshua was busy helping escort the damaged vessels back to Sanijo for repairs before he was expected back to assist the fleet in pushing further into occupied territory, and Bertram was currently helping some new transfers from Syllia acclimate to Tellanian weather. One last bit hinted that Syllian forces would soon be arriving there to assist the Praetorian and Avalon forces.

Willard finished reading the message and looked to Thera.

"There are a few more lines but that is of a more private nature and thus will not read it aloud. Anyway, judging by the stamp on the telegram those Syllian forces if they left the day it was written should be here by this afternoon as the crow flies, or in this case, dragon. Before I return to my other duties milady is there anything else I can do for you or your guests?" Thera looked to Spyro and Cynder and nodded.

"Are either of you hungry? Thirsty?" Spyro was about to decline when his stomach growled, making him blush slightly which in turn made Thera, Ignitus, and Cynder laugh. Willard grinned and nodded.

"I shall bring some refreshments." Thera nodded and turned back to Spyro.

"Before I forget, how are the Guardians? Poor Pyre looked half ready to collapse from exhaustion when I saw him after the battle. Even Terrador looked tired." Spyro nodded.

"Indeed. From what I heard, Terrador tried to leave the Temple this morning to aid in the repair work but his strength nearly gave way. He, Cyril, and Volteer are beginning to talk about finding replacements for their positions. Pyre is the youngest of the Guardians and as such wasn't too worn out but he still didn't rise until late in the day." Thera nodded and then chuckled lightly thinking back to when Pyre was still a member of the Dracocorps.

"I can only imagine what Shimmer would say if he heard that Pyre slept in today." At that moment, a knock on the door came and when Willard opened it, in came a dragon with luminescent silver scales, silver horns and claws, and bright vibrant gold eyes. Thera, Spyro, Cynder, and Ignitus stared in shock as Shimmer smiled and tilted his head to one side.

"I felt my ear frills burning as I landed outside. Does that mean someone here's been talking about me?"

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(elsewhere, in the Blue Islands)

Joshua stared as the tug boats worked to dislodge a beached battleship, _RNV Regal_, from the shoals of the nearby sand bar where she'd been run aground to prevent her sinking. Her crew had worked all afternoon and through the night to keep her afloat and early this morning they _finally_ managed to seal the flooded compartment and her captain declared her seaworthy enough to return to port for repairs.

It hadn't been easy in the early hours of the attack. Thanks to the messages captured from the Callinar submarine, C-22, and that his father had managed to decript and transmit, the Task Force knew of the enemy ambush well before they were in range. In response, the Admiral of the fleet had ordered the destroyers and cruisers to form a charging line and sail _through_ the enemy formation at full speed, firing as they went.

The maneuver had caught the enemy fleet with their pants down. Clearly they had expected a slow moving cluster of ships instead of a lightning quick formation of destroyers, light cruisers, and regular cruisers. That still didn't stop one of the enemy battleships from opening fire and sinking the light cruiser _Dare_.

Joshua thought back on the fight and wondered for the hundredth or perhaps thousandth time how the hell his ship got through that barrage with nothing more than a grazing shell through the port anchor brace. The destroyer escorts _Tribal_ and _Garr_ were on either side of the _Interceptor_ when they came under fire. First a cruiser broadside ripped the _Tribal_ in half, and then a torpedo blew the nose off the _Garr_. Josh had steered his ship in between an enemy cruiser and a carrier and all five of the _Interceptor_'s 5.5 inch guns opened fire on the bridges while they fired torpedoes.

The cruiser had exploded and sank in a mere six minutes while the carrier, listing heavily and unable to launch aircraft, beat a hasty retreat, an enemy destroyer laying down a thick blanket of smoke to cover it. It was at that time Josh heard the _Crucible_ radio for assistance and Josh ordered the _Interceptor_ and two more destroyers in his group to make a bee-line for the crippled cruiser.

The _Crucible_ was now docked in the port of Awa being repaired for the operation ahead. For the moment, all was calm and serene. Josh had learned from his father and mother both to savor each moment of peace you could get. Once the reinforcement fleet arrived, there would be no more peaceful moments like this for a while. He heard boots crunching the sand and turned to see his XO, Walker, approaching him. He stared at the sunset over the island and ocean and smiled.

"Now there's a beautiful sight isn't it sir?" Josh chuckled and gazed out to sea and noted the beauty of it.

"Indeed. I find myself yearning for a blank canvas and my oil paints and the time to properly use them." This got Walker's attention as well as a few nearby enlisted men and women who approached him. One of them, a newly promoted Petty Officer, spoke.

"You paint sir?" Josh nodded and gazed back at the sunset.

"When I was younger, my mother insisted that if I decided to follow in Father's footsteps and join the Royal Military, I would learn at least a little bit of cultures from around the world. I would spend hours gazing at various examples of art from around the world and I quickly found myself to be an expert judge of shading, paint, and color and took up painting in my spare time. My younger brother Bertram is also a painter but just not on the same level that I am and as for Nick, well, let's just say that for some people it is a crime against humanity for them to hold a brush."

This got several members of the crew laughing. Their laughter somewhat, revived Josh. It was a good sound to hear.

"I am the painter of the family, Bertram is the poet, and Nick is the musician and we are content to stick to our own expertise. If we weren't at war I would easily content myself to sit here on the beach and take my time with every brush stroke; slowly covering the canvas until I had captured the beautiful scene before me."

Another sailor, this one an apprentice spoke up.

"Have you ever...sold any of your paintings?" Josh laughed at that and shook his head.

"I've tried, believe me. Some people have also come seeking my art for museums and auctions, and private galleries and have offered vast sums for even my incomplete pieces and even a few pieces I deemed not up to my standards. My mother however, hoards them all jealously, not daring to part with even the worst of my art. She's the same with Bertram's poems and Nick's compositions no matter if they are complete or not, if they are good or not. I don't know why my art is so stirring. I suppose it's because though I may appear human, I am in fact a dragon and my eyes tend to allow me to see things regular humans can't. Take the sunset for instance; where one might see varying shades of red, orange, and black, I see ripples of blue, green, yellow, even pink all twisting and writhing around each other and seeming to _radiate_ from the light of the sun. Each place it seems unique."

Josh grabbed a nearby stick and began to draw in the sand. Walker and the enlisted drew closer to see what he was doing.

"For example, the sunset in Launces is red, overlayed with blue, green, and a broad splash of gold yet here, the sunset is calm, soothing, much like the ripples of the ocean against the shoals. Father always said: '_A painter is just like any other man, except they see things of beauty in places no one else will look. It is up to the painter to give voice to that beauty so that others may see through the artist's eyes._"

As he spoke, he drew in the sand. When he finished, there were two different sunsets drawn in the sand. The first held the sun and broad arcs that got larger and more indistinct as they radiated outward. The second had a single arc but within the arc was wave upon wave of lines that seemingly enveloped the arc and made it seem somewhat otherworldly. When Josh finished, heset the stick aside and gazed upon his work and smiled.

"Now you can see what I see. A pity though this will be gone when the tide comes back in." Walker shook his head and motioned the the people clustered around Josh. He honestly had been so engrossed in the drawing that he hadn't noticed the crowd forming. He looked to his XO who in turn smiled.

"It may vanish with the tide sir, but for these men and women here today, they will continue to remember your words and this drawing for as long as they live. You have given them something worth remembering." Josh smiled and nodded as he looked back at the sunset.

"Thank you for that Charles. I honestly never had people admire my work before. I suppose when we get home, I'll have to convince Mother to part with some of my work so that I can donate it to a museum somewhere. Tell you what, I think I can get some canvas and paints here in Awa, or wire Mother to send mine and once I have the time, I will paint a series of paintings of the ship and the crew. A portrait of the officers, NCOs, Enlisted, and Marines seperately, and one large one of all of us together in front of the ship. Yes...I can honestly see it now. How does that sound to all of you?"

The crew let out a cheer at that. Every man and woman among them beaming brightly at the announcement.

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(Somewhere in Eastern Syllia, a Top Secret facility known as Workshop Zero)

The sound of machinery moving about and tools working was almost deafening to James as he quickly inspected and finalized the last of the prototype blueprints. Nearby, his former students Albert and Xavier Reed were also going over various blueprints they had drawn up while here in Syllia. Meanwhile Prince Roberto was busy finishing going over the latest intelligence reports from Tellanos and the Blue Isles as well as the new reports from Avalon.

Workshop Zero was the predecessor to Workshop One in Launces and the newly completed Workshop Two in Peninsula City. Zero was located in a secluded area of Syllia's eastern shore and was by far the largest of the structures. On the ground it looked like a simple one floor warehouse with a medium sized airfield nearby and a somewhat over-sized garrison of Army soldiers, Marines, Dragoons, and even a wing of dragons from the Dracocorps, but past a series of doors each made of two foot thick reinforced steel was a lift that decsended into the bowels of the earth. It was as much a bunker as it was a top secret factory. In the sections further inland and closer to the surface there were conveyor belts and hundreds of workers putting firearms, tanks, and aircraft together.

These materials were sent up by a large freight elevator to the top floor where the firearms were loaded onto transport planes and flown to their destination. The heavier tanks were chained and strapped to armored trains and sent to the Armored Corps Deployment Center for crew assignment, unit assignment, decal and number painting. The aircraft were brought to the airfield and flown by pilots to nearby airfields and then returned aboard transports that were constantly coming and going.

The other half of the factory facing the sea was actually an underground dry dock where ships of various classes and sizes were being built and fitted for service by thousands upon thousands of people working round the clock in shifts. Once the hull and superstructure was built, the ship was launched and towed to the exterior port where furnishings, painting, and armament was fitted and installed. At the moment, the port held three battleships, six cruisers, ten destroyers, nine submarines, two dragon-carriers, three fleet carriers, two escort carriers, and three extremely large ships the crews had taken to calling 'Supercarriers'. There was also one ship in port that looked to be a cross between a battleship and an aircraft carrier.

These 'Supercarriers' were in fact the prototype _Leviathan_-class carriers James had been working on. The other hybrid ship was a design known as a 'Battlecarrier'. Up until now the battlecarrier had been on the back-burner for some time. Like the _Leviathan_ carriers, James had begun in 1930 but the hybrid ship known simply as 'BC30' fell out of favor for a ship that could travel extremely fast, could launch a vast amount of aircraft, and was large enough and well armored that a battleship would have a tough time sinking it. By comparison, the BC30 was almost a joke.

It had begun as a Royal-class battleship but James had had an idea. Sacrificing the stern guns and modifying the aft bridge to a hangar, it was now conceivable for a battleship to carry its own wing of aircraft. For the sake of having _some_ stern weapons, James had dredged up the old sponson design and implemented them on the ship below the flight deck and fitted them for 6 inch guns. He was confident he knew what he was doing.

Since 1916, Syllia and various other nations had tried to come up with a hybrid design and failed. Most dismally was the BC1920 and BC1924 classes which were flawed to the extent that no sane pilot would try taking off, much less landing, on a partial deck half as long as a carrier deck. The following design, BC1927, fared better but was scrapped after a pilot crashed onto the deck and was killed. That hadn't been the half of it as the plane had crashed on top of one of the lifts which in turn had caused the hydraulics to fail and drop a burning plane into a hangar filled with aviation fuel, ammunition, and explosives. It does not need be said what happened next. BC1927 was now an artificial reef off the western coast near Peninsula City.

James glanced again at the blueprints for the new fighter he had designed. In sticking to his usual style, the blueprint didn't have a name, but rather a number: 'XF2M-(262)'. Another blueprint was nearby and like the previous one was an experimental fighter he couldn't complete because he didn't have the right engine design. With the Reed brothers here, the XI5M-(155) could yet become a possibility. Still, there was a lot of work to be done before either prototype was ready to fly. He placed the blueprints into the folder and rose from his chair and stepped out of the 'blue room' as it was known, and gazed at the half-built battleship hull currently in progress.

As he gazed at the hull, Xavier came up beside him. He had produced a pipe, and had begun smoking merrily away like a steamboat. James chuckled at this and looked back at the ship.

"You know that stuff's bad for your lungs right?" Xavier exhaled a cloud of smoke, turned to rest his back on the rail, and removed the pipe.

"So you say Mentor. Yet, I believe the war will kill me long before I begin suffering from Lung Rot or whatever that damnable disease is called. In war, we take what small pleasures we can get. For Albert, he enjoys a nice glass of whiskey, bourbon, or vodka, especially vodka, to ease the tension of the day. Me? I prefer to smoke like a locomotive. I'm sure even you have your vices. I know Prince Roberto sure as hell does. You and I both know he enjoys the company of that woman in area three of the factory, you know of whom I speak."

James _did_ know and had even warned Roberto against it seeing that the woman in question was the daughter of Major-General Nathaniel Sharps, the spymaster of the Syllian Royal Intelligence Corps. He shuddered to think what Sharps would do if he ever learned that a prince from another nation was making 'goo-goo eyes' at his only daughter. For the moment, Roberto was in the clear as Sharps had been rumored to be deployed in Rotiart trying to gather intel about the mysterious fortress known as Black Sand Island. At that moment, the woman, Nicolette Sharps, came forward with a message in hand.

"Lord de Launces. I have a message for you from my father routed through the SRIC." James nodded and took the letter and opened it; inside was written one solitary word: **Whirlwind**.

Xavier looked at the missive and shrugged, clearly stumped.

"Any idea what it means?" James shook his head for a moment but then had an idea.

"A few years back I was experimenting with a new prototype naval engine. This engine was designed to be fitted to ships bigger than the cruiser class and meant to serve as fast attack vessels. I say fast attack because the engine would have allowed ships to sail in excess of sixty to seventy knots." Xavier went wide-eyed at this.

"Are you serious? Why the hell didn't you implement it sooner?...Sorry Mentor, it's just that, if a battleship can cruise the waves at sixty knots, you could move a fleet into position much faster than the enemy will ever expect. And if you come under fire, simply engage the engine and _zing_ you're off and the enemy haven't a chance in hell of catching you." James nodded.

"That was the original idea but as testing progressed, I discovered a flaw in the design. The engine, it creates great speed but also creates tremendous friction and heat. Not even crystal generators could sustain it and the few prototypes I built were destroyed when they caught fire by themselves. They also proved to be too big to mount properly on any ship smaller than a battlecruiser. If I _did_ mount them if they proved successful, I would have had to redesign the entire Syllian Navy or at least whatever vessels the Admiralty wanted to refit with the engines. I shelved the blueprints in the old Archives in the warehouse at Gyladon which burnt down a few months later, destroying all the blueprints and prototypes inside." Xavier raised an eyebrow, his still smoking pipe all but forgotten and abandoned in his hand.

"Why would he send a message containing that word then if all the files on it were destroyed? Unless..." James nodded.

"Unless the fire wasn't accidental as believed but actually arson to cover their tracks which means the Archives are now in Mechanos' hands meaning he had rebuilt the Whirlwind project, for whatever good that will do him." Xavier looked at his mentor, his face grave.

"What if he made it work?" James sighed and looked back at the ship in progress.

"Then I'd best come up with a solution fast while there's still time." Xavier nodded and swung his hands away to swat at a bee flying around him, the pipe that had been in his left hand went flying through the air and struck a welder on the helmet down below. Xavier glanced down at where the pipe went and shrugged.

"Oh well, I needed to quit anyway right? Can't be hacking up a lung while there's a war on, eh? Hey Al! Pour me a glass of that vintage bourbon you're so fond of, I just quit smoking."

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(Back in Rotiart, fifteen miles from final destination)

Dieter awoke with a start as the large clock chimed away. Looking out the window, he realized that night had fallen and he _still_ hadn't been called in. He got up, preparing to throw caution to the wind and advance past the two dread griffons when the door opened and out came a tall, heavily muscled man who stepped between the two griffons.

"Lord Mechanos will see you now, Lieutenant. Oh, and before I forget, congratulations."

Dieter was puzzled by this and entered the room that served as Mechanos' office. It was much plainer than he had thought, a simple wood desk, a high-backed chair, a few paintings here and there, a blueprint or two tossed about on a table nearby. Best of all though, no dread griffons. Dieter approached the seat nearby and sat. The high-backed chair swiveled around to reveal Lord Otto Mechanos himself.

Mechanos was not an old man by any means. Although he had seen many years obviously, he was still spry looking and possessed a full head of white-silver hair and a moustache and beard that made him look like some grandfatherly wizard from an old child's story than a master mechanist. In stark contrast to his hair, he wore a black suit and cape that covered his body and also held a gold monocle in his left eye. His eyes were of a deep, deep, majestic green color and gave off the feel that no matter who you were, Mechanos could see you, see _through_ you; he could see your intentions, he could possibly even see into your very _soul_.

Mechanos gently waved and the man who had ushered Dieter in sat a pot of hot tea on the table in a special nook that prevented it from tipping over onto important papers and also set out two white pewter saucers and two teacups into likewise indentations. The man looked to Mechanos who held up three fingers and the man put three small sugar cubes into the cup and poured the tea after them. He then looked to Dieter who held up two fingers and had the corresponding number of cubes and tea put into his cup. After taking a small sip out of his cup and setting it back down, Mechanos looked to Dieter and opened the folder that held (as Dieter had expected), the after-action report of the 215 Squadron's engagement of the Syllian 242 Squadron.

"Lieutenant Dieter Muntz. I must say that once again you have surpassed my expectations. Not only did you do the right thing in preventing more meaningless losses, you also got a good feel for the Syllian planes. I had anticipated they would have modified their planes to better pierce the armor of the planes but that it happened so soon is intriguing." Dieter nodded.

"To be honest sir, when I pulled one of the rounds out of my plane wing and had it examined, I discovered Rotiart hallmarks as well as metal composition. I suspect that, at some previous point, the 242 Squadron downed a number of our heavy fighters, stripped the cannons from the wreckage and fixed them to their own planes." Mechanos nodded.

"I am inclined to agree with you Lieutenant. So, if you were me, how would you rectify the situation?" Dieter knew his answer and nodded.

"First off sir, the planes need a stronger armament. It takes roughly seven to eight seconds for a plane with an all machinegun armament and an expert pilot to down an enemy fighter, twice that for a bomber. A mixed cannon/machinegun armament takes five seconds, again doubled for bombers. I propose an all cannon primary armament, perhaps four, and two machineguns as backups should the cannons malfunction or become empty. To compensate for the weight of the added armament, a more powerful engine is needed as well. I believe if our planes can get a minimum of fifty miles per hour faster, we will reestablish complete air dominance over the Tellanian theatre of operations. In the clouds going gun to gun with an enemy pilot, who when you strafe one another so closely you can see their faces through the cockpit, speed is life. The faster you are, the quicker you can down an enemy and proceed to the next enemy. It all comes down to making the war in the sky too bloody and costly for the enemy to continue. If we succeed in doing _that_, the enemy may well decide to sue for peace if not outright surrender."

Mechanos smiled and sipped at his tea for a moment, then nodded.

"I agree with you wholeheartedly Lieutenant, or should I say Captain? Don't look so surprised, a man of your talents? It's only natural you would rise through the ranks like you have. Not to mention you are our leading ace with the most kills of any of our pilots. You are an idol to your fellows and a hero to your countrymen. The propaganda ministry has been plastering posters of you all over the nation trying to drum up recruitment for the military, especially the Air Force. Now then, onto more pressing buisness...what was he like? Bertram de Launces? Can he fly as well as his mentor, the Blue Baron? Does he possess his father's ingenuity, his tenacity, or his quick mind? Does he pose a significant threat?"

Dieter set his cup down and gazed at Mechanos.

"The boy is brash, almost bordering on foolishness. Yet he has remarkable potential. With a little more training perhaps he could become a rival worthy of my undivided attention. He lacks the certain..._push_ needed to advance his training and his abilities. Would I enjoy going against him again? Yes, as a matter of fact I would relish the opportunity; but I would take no pleasure from shooting him down if he were not ready to come at me with every fiber, every ounce, every iota of skill and training he possesses. He sees himself and his squadron as 'invincible', you can tell it in the way he flies, pushing his plane well past its limits in which the frame would be in danger of breaking under the strain. His squadron, in particular note the foreigners, have more composure, are more...wary of their own mortal limitation. Bertram is like any teenager or young adult in the world. He thinks he is ten foot tall, bulletproof, and can drink any man under the table. He is...immature, and needs to be taught a harsh lesson about the realities of war." Mechanos smiled and pressed a button on his desk.

"Then I believe this man will make an excellent addition to your squad. Captain Dieter Muntz, allow me to introduce Sergeant Alfred Marks, one of the top five killers in the Air Force, but...you may know him by another name." Dieter nodded as the man stood before him and saluted Dieter sharply.

"Indeed I do sir...the Son of Death. The Grim Reaper."

At that moment, the door opened and a large hulking figure came into the office. Dieter halfway drew his sidearm when Mechanos waved him off.

"Sorry to startle you Captain but I can't have you shooting one of my best associates. Captain Dieter Muntz, Sergeant Alfred marks, allow me to introduce you to Sir. Mister Sir." Dieter looked at Mechanos oddly at the name.

"Sir?" Mechanos nodded.

"For reasons of my own, I cannot and _will_ not divulge his true name. It would be...problematic to say the least. Anyway, I have your report, you have your new squadron member and your reward for a job well done. Now then, I believe we are nearing your stop. Sir and I shall continue to the ferry station and head for Black Sand Island." Before Dieter could speak, Sir spoke up, his voice distorted from behind the metal plate covering his face.

"_Lord Mechanos, I must report that the Whirlwind has sailed ahead of schedule. I must also inform you that she was __**not**__ complete at the time her Captain insisted they deploy so that they could catch the Syllian fleet unaware and attempt to retake the island of Kage. Element of surprise and all that."_

For the first time ever, Dieter saw Mechanos get angry. The man's face glowed red behind his beard and moustache and his eyes flashed dangerously.

"Why the bloody hell didn't you radio me this beforehand?!" Sir shrugged.

"_You had the radio turned off sir, military secrecy and radio silence_."

"How incomplete was she?"

"_She did not have her complete armor fitted yet; as a result, her stern section, aft bridge, and her engine room are inadequately protected. In addition, her stern guns needed calibrating, and her new prototype engines are still prone to overheating. If she runs her engines for longer than ten minutes, the possibility they could malfuncton and critically damage or even sink the ship increases ten percent every two minutes. Furthermore, the coolant system wasn't installed due to delays from the manufacturer and the lack of spare parts so even if the engines __**were**__ shut off after ten minutes, they would not be able to cool them down without flooding the engine room with sea water and disabling the standard engines._" Mechanos thought for a moment and then turned to Dieter.

"Captain, how are you at carrier landings and operations?" Dieter saluted.

"As good as I need to be sir." Mechanos nodded.

"For this one instance, you and your squadron are hereby transferred to the Carrier Force. Board the carrier _Calpernia_ and set out with the Third Fleet to pursue the _Whirlwind_. We cannot lose that ship. _I __**cannot**_ lose that ship so soon after she's been built. When you find her, take her idiot Captain and lock him in irons or throw him overboard." Dieter cleared his throat.

"Sir...what if we don't catch her in time?" Mechanos turned at Dieter, his eyes all but glowing with anger.

"If you cannot catch the wind, _Captain_, do not bother reporting back to me. Return to your post in Tellanos. If you _do_ return here, well, use your imagination." Dieter saluted sharply and stood at attention.

"Sir! The Two-One-Five Squadron will _not_ fail you!"

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Whew! Holy cow! It feels _good _to finally be typing again. Still, it is a _little_ disconcerting to hear every joint in my fingers pop as I type but oh well, you can't stop progress right?

So as promised, Mechanos and the mysterious Mister Sir has been introduced. What will Dieter do about the rogue _Whirlwind_? Who is this new member to the 215 Squadron? What does Dieter have planned for Bertram?

Next time: Against the Whirlwind.


	9. Against the Whirlwind

Hey everybody! Ouch! Whoo! Hot! Fresh...Yeouch! Let me set this down for a moment...

There! Now then, fresh from the oven, the latest chapter of World Fury and let me tell you, an ill wind is blowing...not _that_ kind of ill wind. Anyway, back on topic, latest chapter is up and here it is before I burn my hands again.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE, ONLY MY OCS. ALSO, AS AN ADDITION, I DO NOT OWN THE CONCEPT OF THE _WHIRLWIND_, THAT HONOR BELONGS (_last time I looked_) TO KOEI ENTERTAINMENT AND THEIR _WARSHIP GUNNER_ SERIES.

BTY: Naval Ops: Warship Gunner, Naval Ops: Commander, and Warship Gunner II are Naval simulation games for the Playstation 2 system designed by KOEI. The _Whirlwind_ is primarily featured as the first über boss the player has to defeat and is technically a cruiser, although it is referred to as 'super-dreadnaught'. Just felt I should mention it in case some of y'all have played the games before or to those wondering where the idea came from.

Chapter 8: Against the Whirlwind

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(_5 miles offshore from Trident Isle, 60 miles Northwest of Kage Island, 0545hrs (5:45 A.M.)_)

The bell rang eight as the crew of the battleship _RNV Victorious_ stood down from yet another long day at sea on patrol. The Captain of the ship, a young man who had earned his rank but never seen combat, paced the bridge in a anxious manner. His XO, a grizzled old Commander who had seen his share of fighting watched him with worried eyes.

"Captain, might I suggest you retire for the evening? I hear the mess chief had a special dinner planned for the crew and-"

"If you want to go eat dinner Commander, then so be it, but I am _not_ leaving the bridge until we engage _something_. The reports said 'possible enemy patrol fleet in area'. If that's the case then where the hell are they?" The XO turned to him and frowned.

"Sir, the radar's been out for hours as well as our radio. Our lookouts haven't been able to stand down since you called them to stations at lunch time. In this fog, and as tired as they are, a carrier could sail right by us and we wouldn't notice it unless its fog horn was blown."

"What about our sonar?"

"Nothing but fish swimming and, according to the last report, something sounding like sea dragons mating or some sort of seismic activity. Sir...are you doing this for glory or do you believe you must prove yourself?"

The Captain gritted his teeth. It was no secret that, as the son of one of the Admiralty, he had wanted to become a hero like his father. Yet, when the fleet engaged the enemy at Kage Island, he had held his ship back and as a result, when an enemy flotilla _did_ attack the _Victorious_, he was unprepared to issue orders and the battleship, _Regal_, beached herself trying to save them. This was in fact, his _last_ chance to redeem his honor and he'd be damned if some whining XO or anybody else would tell him to back down. At that moment, the sonar pinged and the Captain and XO wheeled to the operator.

"What was that?!" The Captain demanded. The sonar operator stayed still for a moment then frowned.

"It sounds like a ship but, first ping ranged it at six miles out, second ping was at four miles out. If my numbers are accurate, the ship would have to be sailing close to sixty knots." The Captain frowned.

"That's absurd. Impossible. No ship is _that_ fast." At that moment, the radar operator came running in and flipped the switch on the unit. The whole station lit up like a Yule tree. The sweeper beeping as it caught something _big_ three and a half miles out...and closing fast. The radar operator and Captain blanched as they saw the image. The XO, pale, but still in control, turned to the Captain.

"An old man once told me: Be careful what you wish for. Captain, what are your orders?" The Captain turned and nodded, still fearful, but now aware.

"Man the guns, all hands to stations. Prepare to engage the enemy! XO, launch the scouts to report our position and the enemy data."

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(_aboard the über-dreadnaught_ Whirlwind)

"Captain! Radar detects a ship in the fog. Judging from her size, it has to be a Syllian Royal-class battleship. Your orders?"

The Captain, a tall broad man dressed in the uniform of a Rotiart flag officer, grinned from under his black felt officer's cap and turned to the XO.

"Push the engines to full power, we shall crush the enemy in one attack."

"Aye, sir! Man battlestations, cycle all turrets to port, rely on radar for the firing angle. Ready submerged torpedoes as well."

"Firing angle set: all guns now at twenty-five degree angle, torpedoes set for maximum range, low speed, running depth is nineteen feet."

There was a low hum which built up to a roar as the _Whirlwind_'s engines were pushed to full speed. This was the first time the new engines had been pushed to full power. Up till now they had been on standard propulsion. Yet, the build up was a time-consuming process as the engines increased speed. A process that took too long. The XO saw flashes in the distance and heard a tell-tale whistling noice pierce the sky.

"Incoming!"

The shells began to splash around the _Whirlwind_ and at first the Captain thought they had all missed. However, there was a sudden explosion from the stern of the ship, and the bridge rattled violently as shockwave rippled along the ship's hull. The Captain struggled to keep his balance and growled.

"_Fire._"

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(_Port of Awa, Island of Kage, 0845 hours (8:45 A.M.)_)

Thunder rumbled in the distance as Josh walked into the building the fleet had requisitioned to serve as headquarters for the fleet. Just through the door were junior officers running about with files, charts, and other things while a few were running about looking for a bucket or something should the roof leak. Despite appearances, Awa had suffered from enemy bombardment during the initial attack and again as the Callinar Navy tried to raze the port and town to prevent Syllia from retaking it. As he entered a room, vaguely, he heard a radio operator trying frantically to raise a ship on the radio. Outside, he heard what sounded like a scout plane landing.

Otherwise ignoring the bustle of organization, Josh continued forward and into the command room where several officers, many of whom were of equal or higher rank than him, were clustered over a chart of the waters and islands in between Kage, and the outlying islands of Kawa, Shinto, Akame of the Blue Isles and the outlying Callinar Islands of Trident, Hapro, Vadtre, and Mobine.

Between the closest islands of Kage and Trident there was sixty-five miles of open ocean. At roughly twenty-five knots, it would take the fleet some time to reach the staging point for the landing. The second fleet that had reinforced them was primarily made of light vessels: destroyer escorts, light cruisers, one or two escort carriers, and many, _many_ landing vessels stuffed from stem to stern with Marines fresh from boot.

The one shining light was that apparently, someone in the Admiralty had pulled some strings and had gotten the Seventh Fleet assigned to the force as well. Scanning the officers, Joshua spotted the Admiral in command of the Seventh fleet speaking with the Task Force Commander, and the Marine Commander.

The Seventh Fleet was a group of vessels primarily deployed when direct sea lanes to the homeland were threatened. Among its number were destroyers, cruisers, battlecruisers, battleships, two carriers, and, wonder of wonders, a dragon carrier complete with a full wing of the Dracocorps.

From what Josh had heard of Admiral Irving Reede, he was _not_ a man to mince words with and spoke with a thick accent from Nevora. He was one of those people that if he liked you, he liked you, if he didn't, well, either you made every effort to get on his good side or made sure you avoided him, in his own words, like the ruddy plague. He was considered brash and tactless by the higher command but he was a genius with naval tactics and combat.

Josh drew closer and began to overhear snatches of what was being discussed. Admiral Reede, being the expert tactician he was, was giving his own opinion of the situation.

"Now listen here, Captain, this route is sure enough to get you and the Marines killed deader than a doornail. What you _need_ to do is have our heaviest ships come forward, blast the holy hell out of the emplacements, have the Dracocorps support the landing forces, and soon as you can say 'Bob's your uncle', Trident will be ours and we'll have both bloodied them Callinian's noses, and kicked down their front door at the same time."

"Admiral, again I must protest. Sending our heaviest ships forward will only get them beached. You know what happened to the _Regal_ and it will happen to each and every heavy ship you send forward. Even our destroyers are scraping the shoals. Another thing, if our ships are grounded, they will be easy pickings for the Callinar gunboats."

An officer beside Josh scoffed at this and muttered under his breath something about the enemy gunboats being little more than wooden rafts against a metal ship's guns. Apparently, the Admiral heard him and rounded on him.

"Commander Edmunds, you will do well to not underestimate the enemy. True Callinar's gunboats may date back to the eighteen sixties, but they _have_ continuously modified and upgraded them. They can easily hold a modern vessel at bay, even your cruiser, the _Cyclops_, I believe?"

The Admiral looked back at the map and sighed.

"Regardless, until the _Victorious _returns with its report on the waters between us and them, I doubt we will be sailing anytime soon-"

The Admiral was interrupted when the doors were flung open with such force the handles left impressions in the wall behind them and in came a young ensign who blatently ignored the stares of disapproval of her seniors. The Admiral however, noted her expression and nodded.

"Ensign, report!" The Ensign snapped to attention and held a report aloft for the Admiral.

"Sir! A scout plane from the _Victorious _has landed. The pilot has been taken to sick bay with severe wounds. According to his report, the waters between here and Trident are clear, however, around five forty-five this morning, the _Victorious _ was forced to engage an enemy vessel of unknown class and size...by the pilot's report, he launched at six, the _Victorious_ was hit roughly forty-five seconds later and sank at six oh five. The pilot tried to get a look at the ship but flak forced him back. He says the ship is now making full speed towards us, intending to attack the fleet."

The news of the _Victorious_ sinking was bad enough, but the fact that she had been sunk in less than five minutes and that the same ship was coming towards them made the officers abandon any sense of order. Commander Edmunds of the _Cyclops_ was the loudest of the group.

"Admiral! Let me have six cruisers and I promise you we will avenge the _Victorious_!"

Similar pledges echoed from around the room as the Admiral listened and tried to think. Josh, however, for all his effort, did not possess the Admiral's patience.

"Everyone, QUIET!"

Quiet he got as every officer from the Captain down turned to him. Edmunds got red-faced and turned to Josh.

"Just who the bloody hell do you think you are, Lieutenant-Commander?! James de Launces' child you may be but while you wear that uniform you _will_ show the proper respect for authority or I _will_ have you broken!" Josh calmed down and looked at Edmunds.

"Commander, I meant no disrespect but arguing like this is pointless. At the moment, your plan for dealing with the enemy ship is just as sound as anybody else's. Still, I feel you are overlooking one important fact: the enemy sank the _Victorious_, a Royal-class battleship. She was state-of-the-art and yet she was sunk in less than five minutes. The enemy ship must have incredible firepower for this to be possible and must be of equal or superior size to a battleship. We cannot simply throw ships at this thing and pray that one of them sinks or disables it. A cruiser has, what, five hundred, six hundred crewmen? Do we _really_ want to send six or seven cruisers, along with their three or four thousand combined crew against an enemy ship that we have not even _seen_? We have no intel on this vessel, to rush in blind would be doing our nation, our service, and the families of our crews a grave disservice and dishonor."

Edmunds backed down but his face was still red with fury. Admiral Reede nodded to him.

"Lieutenant-Commander...de Launces, was it? Do _you_ happen to have an idea of how to deal with this threat?" Joshua looked at the map, and the report for a moment, then nodded.

"Yes, sir. At least, I have an inkling of what we _could_ do. We have, perhaps, three or four A-class submarines, right? We also have four Auger-class escort carriers, two Arkibus IV-class fleet carriers, and one Voltaris-class dragon carrier. We could amass an airfleet with torpedo bombers, dive bombers, and fighters to attack the ship from the air. It stands to reason that this one ship must either be rogue, or the enemy is _extremely_ confident in its capabilities." Another senior officer huffed.

"More like overconfident, if you ask me. Just like this plan. Why send our forces to _them_ when they can come to us?" Josh sighed and looked at the officer.

"I say this because we don't know what it's full strength and capabilities are. Also, if it is rogue, they will likely send a reclaimation force to intercept and stop the vessel and attack anyone trying to sink it." This time a junior officer who stood by the Admiral spoke.

"What if it is attacking and not rogue? One ship cannot match an entire fleet."

"If it _is_ attacking, it will have a support fleet only a short distance behind it so that if it is attacked, the support fleet can retaliate and protect the ship. A ship capable of sinking a battleship in less than five minutes must have incredibly powerful cannons or torpedoes and must also be well armored enough to withstand attacks for some time. Meanwhile, we can organize our strongest vessels into a barrier of sorts and then when the enemy is close enough, we can unleash broadside after broadside at the enemy should the planes and subs fail to sink it."

Admiral Reede, who had been standing at the maps, silent, and polite, looked upon the map and then pointed.

"If the ship is indeed as large as you think it is, and they have either a support or pursuit fleet behind them, the only place for them to move is right...here. As we discovered, Kage Island is one of three islands that make up the chain of sandbars and reefs known as Yamato's Shield. There are only two places to enter the deep water area in the middle and all three islands are large enough to hide out fleet if we scatter them. The first deep water entrance is the Shima Breach which is roughly three-hundred feet deep. The next and much larger area is the Musashi Gap which is large enough for seventeen battleships to pass through side-by-side and is seven hundred feet deep. The gap also has another name."

"Yamashiro's Abyss..." Admiral Reede and the officers turned to the young Ensign who had spoken and nodded.

Yamashiro's Abyss was considered, for the most part, a haunted place. In Blue Isles history, a fleet led by Shogun Aiche Yamashiro was caught in a storm and vanished without a trace in the year 1256. Then in 1439, a sea battle took place between two warring Shoguns. Both had a fleet and just one day into the battle, a storm rolled in and both fleets vanished. A few more occurences had happened over the centuries but nothing on the scale of the first two. The last occurance was actually fairly recent.

In 1920, the cruise ship _SS Lemuria_ vanished along with one-thousand, nine hundred, sixty seven lives. A few lifeboats were found three days later with a few of the passengers, mostly women and children. All of them said the same exact thing: The _Lemuria_ had sank right out from under them.

Commander Edmunds again became angry at the Ensign who spoke up and demanded to know her name.

"I am Ensign Anne Roberts, sir. I...I was one of the survivors of the _Lemuria_."

As quickly as he had angered, Edmund quickly paled and shrank back. Josh, sensing something, walked up to her.

"Ensign. Can you tell me about that night when the ship sank?" The Ensign nodded and looked to the map.

"I was only eleven at the time. My mother was just tucking my sister into bed when something jostled the ship. I was thrown from my bunk, as was my sister and our mother ran to the door to find out what was happening. I looked out of the porthole and saw the water bubbling. A moment later, a crewman came to us and yelled for us to get to the leftboats. By the time we reached the deck, the _Lemuria _was already down by the bow. The forward mast and crow's nest had broken and fallen, the wheelhouse and bridge was under, and the first funnel had snapped its lines and had fallen. A few moments later the water stopped bubbling but the ship continued to sink. The crewman, my mother, my sister and I got into one of the boats and a few more crew in the boat lowered us down. We rowed away just before the pressure breached the hull and made the ship capsize and sink. It was over in twenty minutes." Josh approached the map and looked it over.

"Bubbling water, eh? I've heard of this. Sometimes, hydrogen gas pockets trapped under the sediments underwater rupture and create a stormy sea. If enough force is applied, a ship can capsize, break apart, or simply fall through a wall of gas and be swamped in seconds. There is no telling when a gas pocket will rupture or where they are. However, it is fairly possible some of them are close to the surface." The Admiral and officers looked at him.

"What are you thinking Lieutenant-Commander?"

"The maximum depth of our depth charges is six hundred-fifty feet. If we had a large enough charge to go down to the sea floor and explode, it could possibly rupture a gas pocket large enough to create a ripple effect that could sink the enemy ship for us. The danger is that the destroyer carrying the charge would need to be sailing right into the gun muzzles of the enemy ship and that, once the sea begins heaving, there is the possibility the destroyer might suffer the same fate as the enemy ship." Edmunds looked at the map and then back to Josh.

"Why a destroyer? Why not a plane or a sub? Or for that matter a cruiser?"

"First off, we have no aircraft capable of carrying a charge big enough to reach the sea floor. Only a four engine bomber would do and plus it would have to fly at low altitude, well within range of the enemy AA system. Second, a submarine would be accepting a suicide mission as once the charge detonates and the water begins churning, any submarine caught in the wave will be crushed by the pressure of the water moving from the gas and then coming back into place. A submarine at three-hundred feet might as well be at one-thousand feet."

An officer who Josh knew had a brother in the Sub Corps blanched when he said that. Edmunds nodded, still convinced a cruiser would fare better.

"Lastly, a cruiser is a much larger target and cannot evade like a destroyer. The destroyer will come under fire from the enemy and will need to take evasive action. Furthermore, the destroyer is lighter and thus is more likely to escape the waves than a cruiser that weighs twice if not three times more."

The Admiral glanced at the map, then looked at Josh and nodded.

"If you came up with this off the top of your head, I am impressed. Hmm...just how big a charge is needed?" Josh did the math in his head.

"We would need the equivalent to a two ton bomb so...four five-hundred pound bombs...in a special container that can withstand pressures at...eight-hundred feet...also can detonate on a timed fuse." The Admiral nodded.

"I assume, Lieutenant-Commander, that you intend to have the _Interceptor_ carry the bomb?" Josh nodded.

"Yes, sir. I could not ask anyone to perform such a dangerous and risky task if I were not ready to do so myself."

"Then, at least allow me to give you a fighting chance. I will have the heavy ships take positions on either side of the Abyss and when the ship is in sight, we will commence attack and give you time to get into position. Now then, all of you, see to your preparations. Dismissed."

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(three hours later)

Josh found himself wanting to kick himself for suggesting something so hair-brained as this in the first place. The problem hadn't been finding the five-hundred pound bombs but rather fitting them into one watertight capsule and then making a timer so that they explode after a certain time. First off the container had to be made which entitled taking a large cylinder which had been previously used as a piece of the Awa sanitation system, cutting the end off it, emptying the 'contents' and then fitting the bombs inside it and that was just the beginning.

At the request of Admiral Greene, a local chemist was employed and between the chemist, the explosives ordnance disposal officer on Reede's flagship, _RNV Grand Voyager_, and a little improvising with a fourteen inch cannon firing pin, a practical acid trigger was created and installed. To ensure it was fool-proof, a fail-safe was installed as well. Should the bomb reach the bottom and the timer fail, a pin would be jarred loose by the impact (in theory) and automatically set off the charge.

Josh watched a little apprehensively as the bomb was strung up on the crane usually operated to load spare torpedoes into the magazines below the tubes. As the crane stopped, Admiral Reede approached him with a worried look on his face.

"I've just ordered the ships into their positions. One of our submarines, A-22, spotted the enemy ship and engaged it as did our other subs. Their torpedoes did no noticable damage to the vessel and worst of all you were right about a support fleet. Destroyers flying Callinar colors depth charged and sank the A-15 and the A-13 and aircraft from a carrier engaged and forced the bombers and fighters to retreat. A-22 and A-7 suffered light damage but were able to escape. I've also radioed for assistance from our nearby fleets patroling the sea lanes between Avalon, Syllia, and here. I've got the Third Fleet, Eighth Fleet, and the Fifteenth Carrier Squadron due in five hours but according to the reports we don't even have one."

Josh looked to the Admiral and was stunned to see a worried expression on his face.

"Before it escaped, A-22 gave its report on the ship and you were right. It's at least forty feet longer than a Royal-class battleship and has weapons on it that make ours look like pea shooters. It was also travelling at a high rate of speed, yet...the report stated that it looked like they were trying to repair a hole on the port side of the ship. Perhaps the _Victorious_ managed to get the last word in, eh?"

As the Admiral walked off, he stopped as if he thought of something and turned.

"By the way, one of the scouts reported another fleet in the distance flying Rotiart colors. They seemed to be pursuing the ship and support fleet but not engaging. Any ideas?"

Josh thought for a moment and looked at Reede.

"I'm probably crazy for thinking it but, perhaps the ship left Rotiart without permission, linked up with Callinar to spearhead an attack and the Rotarians want to reclaim the vessel but don't want to anger their allies?"

"That suggests our enemies aren't singing from the same song book...I wonder how can we turn this to our advantage if it's true..."

A horn blew in the distance giving the signal that the fleet was in position. Josh went to the _Interceptor_'s bridge and gave the order to deploy and a few moments later, she was steaming for the Abyss.

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(later that day)

The storm that had rumbled so early in the morning had arrived. Rain pounded the ships, lightning arced across the sky, claps of thunder broke the monotony of waves crashing into the side of the ship and the chiming of the buoys that marked the sandbars that outlined Yamato's Shield. It was so dark out that the ships had to turn on their running lights in order to see one another. The _Interceptor _was no exception.

Josh checked his watch and sighed when he saw it was 1:06 in the afternoon. Once in position, he had ordered the crew to battlestations and instructed that they wait.

The seconds ticked by and became minutes which in turn became one hour, then two. Josh began to wonder about this.

_(Maybe the ship stopped for repairs? Did the damage caused by the subs actually sink it? Or did the Rotiart fleet recapture it? Blast it! I wish I knew what was coming!)_

At that moment, a whistling sound was heard and explosions shattered the silence on Kage Island. The radar operator turned to Josh, an expression of mixed excitement and panic on his face.

"Sir! Unknown contact bearing zero-one-zero, distance eight miles and closing..._fast_. Multiple contacts detected at ten miles...eight...nine...no, thirteen vessels. Air radar confirms multiple aircraft also airborne and incoming!" Josh grimaced at this.

"Flying in this weather? Are they insane?!" His XO shook his head.

"They're attacking the equivalent of three fleets with only thirteen ships not counting that monster that we're to sink somehow...I'd say it boils down to who's crazier, us or them."

"All engines ahead flank, get us into position. At the speed that thing's going it's blow through the trap in moments. XO, get to the aft bridge and tell the crane crew to prepare to drop our payload."

Josh didn't hear the affermation but he knew he'd said it as Walker had left the bridge and was running full sprint to the aft command room.

"Captain! Six-thousand yards to target destination! Enemy ship now on bearing zero-one-five, distance four miles, speed estimated at sixty-five knots!"

_(Damn this thing is fast. Let's hope our battleships can actually hit the thing at that speed.)_

As if answering him, the roar of cannons nearly deafened him and he saw flares of light arc through the sky, illuminating the stark white hull of the enemy ship. Cannon shells impacted the ship leaving black scorch marks on the hull, bridge, and turrets of the ship yet did nothing to slow or stop it. Sadly, more shells fell short or missed completely than what hit. In the distance, Josh could see the _Cyclops_ breaking formation to try a running broadside on the enemy ship.

"Edmunds! That idiot, what does he think he's doing?!"

Josh could only watch as the _Cyclops _turned broadside to the enemy ship, aimed its turrets slightly ahead of it and fired.

Ten eleven inch shells impacted the enemy ship as they ran the gauntlet. The shells were not large enough to do more than mar the paint on the hull. Still, an attack was an attack and it had to be answered. Josh saw the number two turret rotate and lower its three guns at the _Cyclops_ and fire.

At the last moment, the ship turned and dodged the attack. Another broadside, this time accompanied by bursts of flak and machinegun rounds pelted the enemy ship. Josh gave a small whoop when he saw one of the shells blow a hole through the ship's V shaped smokestack and another went through the window of the aft bridge. Sadly, this victory was small and it would not last.

This time, _all_ the turrets turned and aimed at the _Cyclops_. An explosion from underwater marked a torpedo detonation and as the geyser fell, the cannons fired. The shells from turret one went through the anchor housing causing both port and starboard anchors to fall away, the rounds from two impacted the forward turrets and also blew a hole through the bridge of the _Cyclops_. Two more volleys of three shells from the aft turrets blew six holes into the hull and engine room of the cruiser.

A few moments later, an explosion bigger than any would have guessed deafened anyone near it and the _Cyclops_ was literally ripped apart as its magazines and fuel stores ruptured and caught fire. Josh watched as the _Cyclops _was lifted into the air by an explosion, torn in half, and then multiple smaller explosions destroyed what remained of the turrets, fore and aft bridges, and the smokestacks. Within a minute after scoring its first hits, the _Cyclops _was gone along with her entire crew.

Josh quickly got a hold of himself as the enemy ship opened fire on a battleship in the formation and once again took command.

"Hard right rudder, bring us within the minimum torpedo range!" The crew looked at him as if he were crazy but they did it anyway. They knew Josh well enough now that he would _never_ order them to do the impossible.

The _Interceptor _all but flew through the waves as they neared the enemy ship. Josh vaguely wondered what the enemy officers were thinking, seeing an old, beat up, obsolete destoyer coming at them. Perhaps they were laughing their asses off.

_(Well, let them laugh. They can keep on laughing right up to the point where they walk up to the gates of Hell.)_

"Swing the crane over the side, prepare to drop the charge!"

Josh looked back and confirmed the crane was moving over the port side. He gave the signal and heard a sound he hadn't thought of before: The sound of the old rusted crane gears grinding to a halt, the charge dangling like a wrecking ball over the side of the ship. Wasting no time, he saw Walker climb onto the crane and attempt to break the mechanism that locked the cable in place.

"Fire deck guns and torpedoes, hell, fire depth charges, machineguns, and sidearms at them!"

The torpedoes launched, the four guns that had a shot on the behemoth opened fire, the machineguns strafed the deck and took careful aim at the hole in the aft bridge the _Cyclops_ had blasted into it. The enemy's number three turret lowered its guns and fired. Josh braced for impact but was stunned to see the shells arc over the ship and splash on the other side. The only damage done was that one shell had clipped the radio mast. The _Interceptor_ was too close for them to lower their guns!

The sound of a cable breaking caught Josh's attention and he saw the charge along with the cable, disappear beneath the waves. If he remembered correctly, it would take five minutes for the charge to reach the ocean floor and detonate, and another two minutes for any gas pockets to rupture and churn the sea. If a big enough pocket ruptured, they could sink the enemy ship with no further losses. That is, of course, if the enemy ship didn't ecape first.

Noticing the strange look of the stern, Josh pointed it out to his gunners who were all to glad to pepper that part of the ship with rounds that, much to Josh's surprise, actually went _through_ the ship.

"Attention all gunners! The enemy vessel has _no armor_ on its stern section, fire torpedoes and rounds into the engine section!"

A weakness discovered, the gunners gladly targeted the stern and with accuracy to make even a sniper jealous, put one round after another right through their previous marks. A salve of torpedoes was launched and impacted the ship. Josh heard the crew give shouts and yell loudly. That was ended however, when a twelve inch shell from a bow turret that had turned nearly all the way around, fell through the aft deck, destroying turrets four and five, punching a hole clean through the hull.

Almost immediately, the _Interceptor_ ground to a halt as the engine room flooded and began to go down by the stern. Josh flipped a switch that triggered an alarm and began to seal the watertight doors throughout the ship. Hoping against hope, Josh grabbed the PA mike and radioed the compartment hit.

"Bridge to Engine room, come in please!"

Nothing but static came through as the ship's speed dropped from thirty knots down to twelve and continued to fall. Then, a spark of hope.

"Boiler Room three to Bridge. We're all right sir but our starboard engine's shot to hell. We're down to one boiler, damage control has also restarted the port engine."

"Bridge copies, glad you're okayt down there."

"Sir...we lost a few brave souls in that attack. Please tell me we're hurting the bastards."

Josh watched as shell after shell went through the ever-growing hole in the stern and made no noticable change until something inside him, his dragon insticts, felt as if something was about to happen. Dropping the PA, he turned to the helmsman.

"Hard to Port! Get us away from the ship!" He picked the PA back up and couldn't keep the excitement from his voice.

"Boiler Room! Give me all you got to escape from the ship, I think our pinprick attack just did _something_."

At that moment, fire erupted from the holes in the engine room and the smokestack all but exploded sending a _massive_ fireball high into the sky. Thick black smoke belched from the vents as the ship ground to a halt and the sound of alarms and frantic shouting reached Josh who grinned.

"Douse the lights, we're still too close and I don't want another shell hitting us."

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(on board the _Whirlwind_)

Alarms blared and red lights flashed across the bridge as the Captain stood there with a stunned and horrified expression. He vaguely heard his XO ask him for his orders as the little destroyer, a ship perhaps a sixth the size of the _Whirlwind_ placed round after round through the breaches in the stern armor. Already he had men abandoning their posts and jumping into the water to try and save themselves. He took a moment and decided that he was _not_ going to let the enemy get this ship. He turned to the XO.

"Emergency start-up of all engines, activate the Cyclonic thrusters! If we cannot win, we shall escape and I'll be damned if we lose the _Whirlwind_ to a destroyer!"

The familiar hum of the engines began as the Cyclonic thrusters, the engines responsible for the _Whirlwind_'s incredible speed, started up. Small fires shot from the smokestacks and from the exhaust ports of the engines but this was normal. The Captain watched as the engines climbed to the requisite start-up percentage.

Ten percent...

Twenty percent...

Thirty percent...

Forty percent...

Fifty perc-

An explosion shook the _Whirlwind _from stem to stern and knocked the Captain off his feet. Gazing back, he was horrified to see the smokestacks explode and also watch as the engine compartment was ripped open in an explosion. The lower hull and armored belt was forced underwater while the aft deck was lifted upwards, folded over, and came down on the aft turrets and bridge.

Sirens began wailing and the Captain felt the _Whirlwind_ beginning to tilt backwards and he knew.

He knew he had just lost the most powerful battleship Rotiart had ever built in a battle that was unnessessary. Leaving the bridge, he walked to his cabin, ignoring the screams of the wounded or dying crewmen. Once inside, he pulled a laquered box from his sea chest and produced his service revolver.

The single gunshot that pierced the air went unheard as the _Whirlwind_ breathed it's last.

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(back on the _Interceptor_)

Josh watched as the ship began to rip itself apart and gazed at the horror this thing had caused. At that moment, the sonar operator yelled that a detonation had occured underwater and that _something_ was happening. A few moments later, the sea began to roil and writhe as hydrogen gas bubbled to the surface. The _Interceptor _got a few small waves over the deck but was far enough away that it wasn't hit by nothing serious.

The enemy vessel was worse off as it began to pitch and heave violently. The tower bridge actually buckled and folded in half to the shriek of metal and cries of horror from the crew. The broken smokestacks fell free from the deck and fell over the starboard side and sank in moments. More explosions echoed from inside the ship as she began to list go down by the stern.

Dislodged equipment, crew, and debris fell from the pitching deck like an odd rain. Against the light of the flares, Josh could see a name painted on the side of the ship:_ Whirlwind_.

Another, final, explosion ripped the capsizing ship in half and blew the bow section forward some fifteen feet and the stern section completed its roll and sank. The bow section flooded, tilted, and went down a short time later. Three minutes after the explosion, the gas stopped rising and the water was again calm. Josh turned to his radar operator who was grinning from ear to ear.

"Sir! The enemy fleet is turning away! They're in full retreat!" Josh grinned and turned on the PA system to the radio room.

"Notify the Admiral, enemy ship sunk, enemy fleet in retreat." A reply was quick to follow.

"Sir...our radio...it's still out."

"Well sail over to him so that I can tell him myself!"

The _Interceptor _gave a lurch as it started forward, and then a loud _clang_ reverberated throughout the ship and the destroyer ground to a halt.

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Dieter had been airborne and witnessed the destruction of the _Whirlwind_ first hand. The clouds and storm had parted long enough for his squadron to be granted a front row seat to the ship's demise. He found himself enthralled by the ship sinking and also horrified. As the first few blasts of flak from a watchful destroyer burst around the sky, he keyed his radio.

"All planes return to the ship. The _Whirlwind_ has been lost." At that moment, a voice came over as his squadron's newest member, Sergeant Alfred Marks, callsign _Reaper_.

_"Captain, surely you jest?! You would leave the _Whirlwind_ unavenged?! Our national honor wounded?!"_ Dieter was about to reply to that when his squadron second, Lieutenant Jyne Grant, came over the radio.

_"You dare to question the orders of your commanding officer? I don't give a damn how many kills you have _Reaper_, or who you are 'friends' with, that kind of insubordination will see you brought low. The Captain says it's too dangerous to engage any enemy vessel at th moment and I, for one, agree with him. We're turning back and I expect you to stay glued to my tail until we land. If you deviate for any reason other than to land, you will be reprimanded upon landing, do you get me?"_

There was a pause for a moment and then a grudging confirmation. Dieter turned his squadron around and retreated to the carrier. For the first time in his career, he knew failure.

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All right! Now that was a battle, am I right? Okay so, Dieter is in some hot water now eh? And what was wrong with the _Interceptor_? Well, that will be revealed next time. As for me, well, I have to piece together the next few chapters.

The next chapter will take place in Avalon so not to worry, I shall be back soon.

Next Time: A Gnasty Surprise


	10. A Gnasty Surprise

Hello everyone! Well, it's that time of year again. School is starting again and my nephews will be going back. Good grief I feel old. It seems like it was only yesterday that my sister-in-law was pregnant with Hunter, my oldest nephew, and now he's in the 8th grade and my other nephew, David, is in the 5th.

Ah, but I'm rambling again. So, I shall get on with the story.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 9: A Gnasty Surprise

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Pyre caught himself before he dozed off again listening to the King greet and address the leaders of the ruling races. He caught a disapproving glance from Cyril but other than that nothing else. Already he had met Kain, the abstinate, but selfless, leader of the atlawa who, though getting on in years, was still as strong and capable as he was the last time Pyre saw him. He had also met Wolver, the new leader of the wolf tribe after the death of their previous leader. True to wolf form, Wolver was stoic, calm, patient, and above all things, unreadable.

Next was, of course, Prowlus of the cheetah race who was acompanied by his chosen successor, Hunter. After that was Mole-yair and his brother Exhumor of the manweersmalls. After trade had begun with the human race, the manweersmalls were the first to open their doors to humans, who, with their advanced technology, were able to extract more metals, minerals, and other things from the many, many mines in Boyzitbig and abroad. Naturally the manweersmalls were in complete control of the industry and, with the help of their larger cousins, the moles, were able to moniter it carefully.

Pyre vaguely wondered where the mole delegation was or when they would arrive when the doors were opened and in, of all people, stepped Gnasty Gnorc, the leader of the gnorc race and one of the original commanders of the Southlands Liberation Force. Indeed, for a gnorc, he cast an impressive figure. Armored in gold plate, he strode confidantly across the room and greeted the King and the others like old friends.

Truth be told, the gnorcs had not been the best of neighbors. After the threat of Dalon ended, Gnasty had attempted to salvage some of Dalon's weapons of war and was even rumored to have salvaged the _Poseidon_ wreckage and sold it off as scrap to fund his forces. Naturally this had raised an uproar with the humans when a gnorc trade vessel bearing a striking resemblance to the _Crusader_, a battleship that had sank in Gnorc Harbor along with Admiral Greagor, sailed into the Admiral's home town of Southport. The ship had been inspected, found indeed to be the _Crusader_, and had been seized by the port authority.

There was no question the gnorcs were the only race that kept a standing army at all times ready while the other races kept militias or patrols at the ready. After the attack on Warfang, the King had issued an order to rebuild the army and had sent a request to Syllia for more human troops.

Needless to say that when Pyre's brother, Shimmer, arrived along with a full flight of Dracocorps dragons and Dragoons and explained the situation elsewhere in the world, the King and indeed, even the Guardians had been taken aback. Still, as Pyre looked at Shimmer, he could see a slight look of relief on his face.

Merely minutes before the meeting, Shimmer had been called to the radio barracks of the Warfang Home Guard and had only just arrived at the meeting, catching a few glances of the other dragons there and a few murmurs of what had happened. Shimmer had whispered something to the King's senechal who nodded and then returned to his place by the King.

After Gnasty had been greeted and the mole delegation arrived (finally). The senechal spoke to Skyclaw who in turn nodded and addressed the room.

"I welcome you all, my friends and fellow leaders to Warfang. I have asked you all here to discuss a matter most dire. I'm not sure how many of you have humans working in your lands but surely you have heard some rumors and have had people take leave and return home. The human lands are in chaos at the moment and are also in a state of war with a nation known as Rotiart. We, too, have been touched by this conflict as one week ago we were attacked by forces our Praetorian allies identified as Damoneni. Already Rotiart had conquered half of the nation of Tellanos and are being held back by both Tellanian and Syllian forces."

He paused for a moment to gauge the room and also to catch his breath before continuing.

"Furthermore, vessels from a nation known as Callinar have actually _invaded_ the Syllian territory known as the Blue Isles and are in stalemate with the Syllian navy. It is now that I ask you all if you will combine your forces with ours so that we may protect our homeland no matter what may come."

Pyre looked around at the delegates with worry. The moles and manweersmalls would, without a doubt, ally with the dragons. The cheetahs, atlawa, and wolves were far more independantly minded. The gnorcs were the only wildcard. Nobody knew what Gnasty's price for an alliance would be, nor could they know what he would do if he decided to stay neutral or perhaps even engage the enemy with his own forces.

Off to the side, Pyre could see his old friend and partner from the Dracocorps, Gerald Ross, son of the late Bertram Ross, and his officers of the Syllian military branch and next to him was Lieutenant-Colonel Albert Collins, commander of the Praetorian forces known as the 'Queen's Guard', a man of impressive stature, noble bearing, and a notorious habit for smoking like a freight train. This was one of the few times Pyre had seen the man without that large pipe in his mouth and without the dark cloud of smoke that always hung over him. He was a kind enough sort, if you didn't mind the smoke smell.

True to form, (and just as Pyre had predicted), the moles and manweersmalls joined with their old dragon allies. Though only the moles had a standing army, the manweersmalls had access to most of the mines and materials in Boyzitbig and abroad making their assistance essential for any kind of military action.

Then came the disappointments. Prowlus didn't think the enemy concerned them as they hadn't attacked Avalar like Dalon had and thus didn't think this alliance was neccessary. Ever abstinate Kain, always believing his island nation was impregnable, turned down the alliance flat. Then it came to Wolver, who chuckled.

"I have no doubt this enemy threat is genuine, but my troops are busy holding off another threat from the west. This Callinar you mentioned has sent probing raids to our small ports which are caught in between gnorc and cheetah territories and should I divert any forces, they will surely succeed. I regret that, though I belive this alliance is the proper action, I cannot ally with you here nor can I send any troops."

Pyre thought he was imagining it, but he thought he saw a ghost of a smile on Gnasty's mouth before it vanished. Nor was he the only one. He saw Spyro and Cynder look at Gnasty as if something about him rubbed their scales the wrong way. Pyre was about to voice his opinion when the gnorc cleared his throat, effectively getting everyone's attention, then, for the first time here, he smiled and nodded towards Skyclaw.

"King Skyclaw; as Wolver said, I too believe in this alliance, however, unlike the wolves, I _can_ and I _will_ send troops to your alliance. Upon my honor as leader of the gnorcs, I pledge you my forces. However, I do this on the promise that, after this war is won, we can go back to our independant ways."

Pyre was dumbstruck and took a moment to make sure his jaw wasn't hanging open. Had he heard right? Gnasty Gnorc, the most disagreeable, egotistical, militaristic, and by far the delegate with the shortest temper among them was actually _agreeing_ with Skyclaw. Furthermore, he was actually pledging support from his own forces to assist the alliance? While Pyre thought on this, Shimmer, who had been silent until now, stepped forward.

"I also have something to say. Before I came to the meeting, I was called to the radio office and recieved some good news. The front at Tellanos has indeed stabilized and now Syllia has its bearings again. They are dispatching a carrier group here to assist Warfang and are currently gathering pilots for the squadrons and are also putting together ships for an escort squadron. Keep in mind though that all of Syllia's main carriers are currently engaged elsewhere so this carrier group will likely be made up of escort carriers but there will be several of them."

Spyro looked at Shimmer and spoke a question that Thera had asked before when Shimmer first arrived but he had declined to answer.

"Shimmer, I ask this question on the behalf of my daughter-in-law, Magothera. What of her brothers? Joshua and Bertram?" Shimmer sighed at this and nodded.

"Due to their exemplary performance during the siege of the Tellanian capital, Retorinc, Bertram's squadron, the 242, is currently on the short list of experienced combat pilots and it is highly likely they will be transferred here on the carrier force. As for Josh...well..."

Shimmer looked like he was unsure to say it with Ignitus also in the room and eyeing him with a worried expression. Not to mention Gerald and several others who knew Joshua. He sighed and continued.

"Joshua de Launces has been temporarily removed from active duty due to the damage the _Interceptor_ took while engaging an enemy supership, the _Whirlwind_, off Kage Island. The enemy vessel punched a hole through the _Interceptor_'s engine room that effectively rendered the vessel unsalvagable. Joshua and his crew have been put on shore duty back in Sanijo until a new vessel can be assigned to him." Shimmer noticed the looks of Spyro, Cynder, and Ignitus and hurriedly added.

"N-Not to worry. He is unharmed, however, he essentially sacrificed his ship to sink the enemy supership. He is a hero for his actions but at the same time, he went against the battleplan and needlessly lost his ship in the process. The Syllian Admiralty tends to weigh such things carefully. Since I've broached the subject, if Josh is assigned a new vessel, there is a fifty/fifty chance he will be assigned here. On the other paw he might continue as part of Task Force Echo. It depends on how the after action review goes." Pyre huffed and looked to his brother.

"You mean to say that his career is in jeopardy just because he lost a vessel that, if I remember correctly, was scheduled to be scrapped anyway? He's a hero! They aught to put him in command of a battleship or a carrier for a job well done!" Shimmer chuckled as he glanced around at the peoples assembled. No matter how much of a Guardian Pyre is, he will always be a Syllian Dracocorps dragon at heart. At that moment, the Praetorian commander spoke up.

"Commander Shimmer, when can we expect these Syllian reinforcements?"

"By my understanding of the orders, it could be anywhere between one to two weeks. The orders have been issued, now they need to get the pieces assembled and on the board."

That was apparently the last thing that needed to be said as Skyclaw then dismissed everyone but the delegates. Apparently, he hoped that a private meeting may be enough to change their minds.

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Thera wearily watched as Zane and Ryu practiced sparring in the courtyard (again). It had been several days since the battle and she still hadn't recovered her energy much. Without even realizing it, she went into a light doze and only snapped out of it when she heard Ryu's exhasperated shout of dismay as Zane 'killed' him yet again. She cracked one eye open and smiled at her two sons then felt a presence by her and felt Ignitus' warm body settle down next to her and he began to explain the events at the meeting.

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Ryu leaned on his practice sabre and glared at his elder sibling. Zane, as always, stood cool and confidant and with an air of confidence.

"That's two out of three Ryu. Would you like to try again? Or are you done having your tail whipped for the day?"

Ryu smirked and readied himself again. One thing Ryu never let be said of him was that he backed down from a challenge. His brother was the only person his own age who could beat him in a mock duel in either human or dragon form and he was determined to best him...eventually.

"Best three out of five, Zane? Or am I cutting into your study time?"

There it was. Zane smirked and readied a stance again, broadside to his opponent, his rapier-like tailblade ready to strike or defend. The tip of the tail covered in a thick rubber that negated the possibility of a wounding or accidental fatal hit. Though they dueled like rivals and had their fights, Ryu could honestly say he had no better friend than his brother. When they were younger, Zane would take time to help Ryu with his own studying and would often listen to him. Before Ryu had started learning how to fight from him, Zane had always been there to protect him from bullies because he was a shapeshifter. The jokes between them were many and they never truly insulted one another.

"Ready Ryu? On three. One...two...three!"

"En garde Zane!"

Ryu and Zane leapt at each other and locked sabre and tailblade in the first strike. When Ryu was in human form, Zane only fought with his tailbalde so to even up the field. Only when both were in dragon form did they go all out.

Ryu disengaged and ducked, the riposted, disengaged again, and then charged. He blocked an attack to his right calf, thenswung the blade around and tapped Zane on the flank.

"That's one!"

"Enjoy it, cause it's the only one you'll get!"

Zane locked his tail with the sabre and twisted, disarming Ryu and and then flicking the ball up to Ryu's throat and smiled.

"Dead. Yet again. Maybe you should take up another fighting style. You don't have to be like me or grandfather and master the sword you know? You could take a page and learn how to use a mace. Or perhaps martial arts." Ryu had heard this speech before and said the same thing he always said.

"My blood is that of heroes. My grandparents and my parents are all heroes, each and every one of them. They never quit and neither shall I." Zane smiled and then tackled his brother, using the back of his paw to ruffle his little brother's hair.

"Blood of heroes, eh? Well, if you stay this course you'll show promise. You _actually_ landed a hit on me just a moment ago. Just last week you never would have been able to touch me. You're getting better, and never let anyone, not even me, tell you otherwise. Now then, let's go bother our dear sisters and see what Zafra's been working on."

As the two brothers turned to leave, they noticed Shimmer coming in and he stopped by their mother and father, who had obviously been expecting him.

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Thera managed to wake herself up to see Shimmer, and shortly thereafter, Pyre, come into the courtyard of their house and lay down before them. Now that Ryu and Zane were gone, Shimmer could speak candidly on the matter of her brother, Josh.

"Shimmer. So, Josh has been removed from combat status?" The light dragon nodded.

"I can tell you this however, it is more than just a fifty/fifty chance he'll come here. I didn't want to say anything in front of the gnorcs. Just something about them sets me on edge. Anyway. Yes, Josh is in Sanijo. Yes, he is not active, at least not at the moment. The fact remains he is the hero who sunk the _Whirlwind_ and saved the front line at Kage Island. Word from command is that he is going to be given a naval squadron and will be one of the groups escorting the carrier force here. It's not official mind you, but, that _is_ what the Admiralty is thinking. Bertram is the only confirmed one I have and that is mainly for his safety."

_That_ caught Thera's and Ignitus' collective attentions.

"Safety? What happened?"

"During the battle of Retorinc, Bertram went against Dieter Muntz, Rotiart's Ace of Aces. By all accounts he shouldn't have survived the encounter but then again, Muntz is known to single out an opponent and then test himself against him. He's a pilot who likes pushing himself against those he considers worthy rivals. If they make the cut, he pursues them relentlessly, if not, he has no qualms about shooting them down afterwards. By all accounts, Bertram got Dieter's attention. It would be a crushing blow to Syllian morale if Bertram de Launces was shot down and killed by the enemy. More so if that enemy was the Ace of Aces." Thera looked at her paws for a moment then nodded as if remembering something.

"Ace of Aces. That's the name given to the elite fighter of any nation isn't it?" Shimmer nodded.

"Indeed. It began during the Callinar Incursion in 1919. Callinar and Tellanian aces crossing the skies and fighting each other. There were fifteen pilots who earned the title 'Ace of Aces'. Nearly all of them lost their lives in that war. That monicker...it's like painting a bullseye on your back. It lists you as the best pilot the enemy has. Down him, their morale plunges, they lose their most powerful ace, and the bullseye goes to the one who shot him down. The last Ace of Aces was Captain Edward Garfield of Callinar, the man known as the 'Crimson Tide'. After the war, he vanished. No one, not even his own government, knows where he is now. What I'm getting at is this. In that one battle over Retorinc, Bertram shot down nearly twenty enemy fighters and sixteen bombers. He rivals Reyson Havvers' kill score from the Southlands Conflict and is listed as Syllia's number five ace."

"Who are the other four?"

"Aces one, two, and three are Reyson Havvers himself and two wingmen, the fourth is a naval pilot, Marine Lieutenant Frank Stone who is actually part of the small fleet Syllia already has stationed here. He fought in the Southlands Conflict, then went covertly to Tellanos during the Incursion, was shot down three times, once by the Crimson Tide himself, came home a hero, and assigned to carrier flight operations to finish out his career." Ignitus yawned, and looked at the clock Thera had in the courtyard and smiled.

"Well, that's enough doom and gloom for one evening. So, Bertram is coming here and possibly Josh as well. That's great news as they'll be away from the worst of the fighting. Plus, the kids love seeing their uncles so it'll give Thera and I a chance to brake away and relax." Thera kissed him lightly and then sighed.

"I've got to help Zafra, she's a little over her head with this project. Shimmer, Pyre, thank you both for coming." Pyre looked a little confused when she said this.

"Zafra? In over her head? What's she trying to build, a land battleship?" Thera laughed and shook her head.

"Close but not quite, she's trying to build a orrery but while she can make the parts, she can't fit them into place properly."

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Zafra actually began to sweat through her scales as she eased the small gear into position. With a satisfying _clink_ it fell into position. Grinning, she then used a small spanner to wind up the spring and then eased a switch up. Crossing her wingtips, she released the switch and watched as the grand clock she was working on sprang to life. Gears clicked and clinked, the pendulum swung back and forth, the reciprocating gear twisted first to the left, then to the right in rapid pace keeping with the swing of the pendulum.

Just as she was beginning to feel satisfied with her work and turned away, she heard a _clunk_ from within the machine. She turned back just in time to see the mainspring snap, fly into a large gear which broke loose from its bearings, fell, landed on a series of smaller gears which sent them all cascading to the ground where they rolled along the marble floor. The clock face spot outwards, the hands spinning in opposite directions, the bell and clapper seperated and fell to the ground as well making an aweful racket, finally the pendulum which had continued its motion, broke free and fell, lastly the beautiful porcelain painting on the face of the clock broke free and fell prompting Zafra to dive and catch it before it shattered. She examined the painting of her mother and father in flight over Launces and sighed, thankful it was intact.

Setting the face aside and looking at the remains of the grand clock, Zafra felt her right eye twitch in anger. That had always been her tell that she was annoyed or worried or angry about something. Three days of work gone in thirty seconds. Her parents anniversary was coming up in less than a week and she _still_ couldn't get the blasted timepiece working right. She looked back at her workdesk and saw her grandfather's original blueprints laying out. She had followed the directions to the letter yet still the device didn't want to work.

The sound of footsteps approaching made her remember what she was _supposed_ to be working on and quickly she threw a sheet over the clock, covered the porcelain face painting, rolled up the blueprints and then laid out the plans for the orrery and quickly laid out the parts for the device and with a broad sweep of her tail sent the gears and pieces of the broken clock tumbling and rolling under the table. She just finished hining the pendulum, bell, and clapper when the door opened and in stepped her mother, looking both curious and worried.

"Zafra? If I may ask, what part of an orrery is supposed to ring loud enough to echo through the house?" Zafra hemmed and hawed before coming up with an idea.

"Th-The...uh...timer! Yeah, the timer to let you know the orrery has run its full course!" Thera looked at her daughter and saw the faintest twitch of her right eye, her tell, and chuckled.

"Okay then, why would an orrery, a device that shows the night sky at any place in the world, need a timer? Are there star showers that happen at certain times? Are you timing celestial events such as eclipses and equinoxes?" Zafra hoped her mother wouldn't start rumaging through her machine pieces and find the spare parts for the clock. She then saw something and gasped, she had missed a single small gear that was right under her mother. Thera noticed this and looked down and picked up the gear.

The gear was a small thing, a little bigger than the palm of a human hand. Yet it was made of titanium-infused gold. Yet another of Zafra's abilities, she could take two metals or a series of them that had nothing in common and fuse them together to create a super alloy. This particular alloy was something she had developed for giving the normally soft gold a harder, more resiliant form for more practical uses. Thera couldn't help but wonder what she was making to require this combination of strength and beauty. Then she saw her daughter's face and set the gear down.

"Zafra, tell me what is wrong."

Though a young adult now, Zafra was particularly sensative when it came to her machines. Once someone had ridiculed her for making her own toys and often giving them to younger classmates as gifts during holidays or hatchdays. She had shut herself in her room for a week and didn't come out until Thera had coaxed her out only to discover Zafra had made an entire mechanical scale model of Warfang. The model was so accurate no one ever mocked her again but she still didn't like anyone trying to 'pick apart' what she had been building.

Zafra, seeing she was caught, brought out the porcelain clock face and pulled the sheet off the clock. Thera was speechless at the sight of it. A clock this size could easily contain over three-thousand parts. She could see it had been previously complete but then something had failed in the machine causing it to come apart. Zafra then brought out the blueprints and that was when Thera saw it. On the blueprints, in the bottom right corner, her father's signature and copyright mark dated 1901, the year she had turned five, and recognized the clock for what it was.

During the time her father had been in the Southlands fighting Dalon, Thera had been in Launces being courted by Ignitus. Eventually though, a dragon she despised insulted her, prompting Ignitus to challenge the dragon to a mating duel for Thera. The night before the duel, the other dragon had sent an assassin to kill both her and Ignitus. Thanks to Ignitus' quick thinking, however, they survived the attack although Thera had lost one of her most treasured possessions, a great clock her father had made for her on her fifth birthday.

Now before her was the same clock, repaired and obviously meant to be in full working order but with a new face, new parts, and just a few days shy of her and Ignitus' anniversary. She pulled Zafra into a hug that seemed to allieviate any fears that she was mad at Zafra and then smiled at her.

"Zafra, thank you. I know you meant it to be a surprise but...maybe I can help you. You see...your grandfather designed this for me yet, he left out one crucial part. There is a gear that goes dead center of the clock. Without it, it will always break. That gear was meant to symbolize me, being one of a kind and having this clock belong to me and me alone."

Zafra watched as her mother went into the room used to hold the family treasures and came out a little while later holding a strange looking gear that consisted of three gears fused together and of different sizes, tooth patterns, and capable of independant movement. Pulling out new parts, they began to reassemble the clock. Thera was particularly moved when she saw the new face and saw her brother, Joshua's, signature in the lower curve of the face just under the five mark. When the clock was reassembled, Thera brought the gear and held it for Zafra to see.

"When my father showed me this, he told me what these gears meant. The first and largest gear is my heart. A heart that knows nothing but love for my family, friends, and now, my children. The second with so many teeth and spins rapidly is my mind. A mind that always wonders, always working, never tiring. Endless curiousity, endless wonder. The third represents my will and resolve. To be unbendable, unbreakable, and to never waver in my faith, my beliefs, nor my convictions. Here. Put this in that empty peg in the center just above where the mainspring attaches."

Zafra did as she was told and then wound the clock slowly. She braced herself for it to break and come apart as it had done time and time again yet...she opened her eyes and stared in wonder.

The pendulum worked back and forth, the gears clicked and clinked without incident, the main gear in the center of the clock turned beautifully. The large inner gear turned slowly clockwise, the middle gear turned quickly counterclockwise, the small outer gear turned one click at a time clockwise with every tenth swing of the pendulum. Zafra turned and looked at her mother who now had tears in her eyes before she blinked them away.

"Now then Zafra. I believe that orrery is due tommorow isn't it?"

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Flaire took her station on the walls of Warfang as she had done time and again. Though newly promoted to the rank of Lieutenant, she still felt she had something to prove to the higher ups. She was determined to show these Syllian dragons what an Avalon born and bred fire dragon was capable of. Her passion for her work and her sense of duty led everyone to call her a 'hellfire' dragon. It was all thanks to her spitting blue flames and also having a unique ability to wreathe herself in the blue flames that made her who she was.

Behind her, the city was settling down for the night yet off in the distance, she could see what she had been told were gnorc forces coming to bolster the garrison. She made no secret about disliking the gnorcs but for the sake of the alliance she kept her mouth shut. A loud whistling sound broke her thoughts and she looked left just in time to see an artilery shell blow a hole through the cannon housing not fifteen yards where she stood. She turned back and gasped, seeing more tell-tale flashes as gnorc artillery pieces opened fire upon the city. She leapt to the alarm bell and began ringing it. A flight of dragons flew to the wall quickly and she shouted to them.

"The city is under attack! The gnorcs have betrayed us!"

A high pitched whine was the next thing she heard as gnorc planes dived from the dark skies above and began to strafe the city streets and alarms rose up from the fleet at anchor as Damoneni vessels opened fire on them.

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Alright everbody! Here it is as promised. Wow so, talk about caught between a rock and a hard place. Not to worry though help is on the way.

Next time: Deja vu: A Rushed Deployment!


	11. Deja vu: A Rushed Deployment

Hey everyone! Here I am again with the next chapter I promised. So then, sit tight, and enjoy.

By the way, kilts are not included with the chapter so don't ask.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 10: Deja vu: A Rushed Deployment

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Josh sat in his office looking at the half-done painting before him. In the free time he'd had since sinking the _Whirlwind_, he had been painting the portrait he had promised Carver, one of the sailor machinist mates who had been killed when the shell ripped through the hull.

In the foreground was the dock on which all but the now deceased crewmen stood on before the _Interceptor_, looking whole and ready for battle. In the background was the city of Awa, and in the clear blue sky above the vessel, he painted the clouds and faint outlines of the six men who died in the engine room that day.

He still needed to add facial details to the crewmen on the dock and paint the ship and background but the outline, marks, awards, and rigging was complete. He had penciled the entire thing, checked it, then inked every single line in the art. Feeling his right hand beginning to cramp, he took a break and then stood by the window which, mentally, he decided was a bad mistake.

There, in dry dock, sat the _Interceptor_, or rather what was left of her. During the night, a water-tight door gave way and flooded the stern half of the ship. The stern was now completely submerged and work crews were busy cutting the superstructure apart while divers were trying to float the rest of the ship so that she could be towed out of Sanijo port to the Breaking Yard for scrapping. Not that he ever expected her to sail again anyway. The shell that struck the ship hadn't just disabled her engines, it had broken the keel, a literal deathblow for any vessel.

The keel is the backbone or 'spine' of a ship. Even on more modern metal vessels, a broken keel means the ship will not stand up to the rigors of sea travel. Not even welding or grafting a new keel in place could work because the weld could give way and the ship could break in half or worse just come apart without warning. One of the reasons the Anoziran Navy, which utilized what they called 'spliced designs', never sailed in extremely rough weather.

Josh and his officers had gone before a military council three times already to explain the battle in detail. Naturally they though him a hero but at the same time he lost his ship, his first command, in his second major sea battle. Because of his rank and the reputation of his family, he was allowed to keep his personal office by the ship berthing. Though he felt it more of a punishment than a show of respect. In the distance, while he scanned Sanijo Port, he could see a group of ships being fitted for deployment. Destroyers, cruisers, and escort carriers. A task force that, he knew, would need an escort to reach their destination.

Going to his chair and sitting down, he flexed his hand to get the cramps out before he started again. His ears caught the faint footsteps on the floor in the hallway and saw a shadow stop outside his door and knock.

"Enter."

The door opened and Josh's eyes went wide as his little brother, Bertram, came in. Another reason for the surprise was that Bertram now had Captain's bars on his uniform instead of Lieutenant. Bertram caught his brother's expression and chuckled.

"Caught you by surprise too, eh? They announced it right out of the blue. I was being promoted for actions in the Retorinc siege. That your ship Josh? Sheesh, I thought you joined the Navy not the Sub Corps."

_That_ remark got Josh's attention and he turned and growled at his brother, something he'd never done before, not even at his most angry of times.

"She's not sunk...that's battle damage." Bertram noticed the tone and realized he'd struck a nerve and stopped.

"Sorry. How many?"

"Six dead. Four instantly, one drowned pinned under a piece of debris and another drowned trying to save him. Six more wounded while fighting fire. The needn't have died if I had kept my speed up but I wanted to make sure the torpedoes and shells were hitting their marks. They may not dismiss me but they sure as hell aren't going to let me command another ship." Bertram looked at the painting he was working on and noticed the faces of the crew in the clouds.

"These men?" Josh nodded.

"Every single one of them was no older than you. Kids, practically. The senior engine machinist says not to blame myself but it's damn hard not to. As Captain, I am responsible for the safety of the men and women under my command. When one of them dies, it's because _I_ failed them."

Josh looked at the painting again then looked to the half sunk ship in port and sighed.

"She going to be broken up and scrapped when they salvage her. The round broke the old girl's back. She'll never sail again. I want to complete that painting before my crew is broken up and they're all tranferred to vessels going into active duty. I'd wager most of them are going to that group of ships over there that are gearing up for deployment. Speaking of which, Bertram, why are you here?" Bertram looked at the model of a battleship on Josh's desk and shrugged.

"Transferred. Command says they need me in Avalon. Took my beautiful P-29 and assigned me and my squadron to an escort carrier. Gave us some CF-24s that are _supposed_ to replace ours but these aircraft are little more than crates. Hell they're just all metal P-10 biplanes that had the upper set of wings removed and the frame strengthened."

Bertram grimaced when he remembered the papers and the orders within to surrender all current aircraft to R&amp;D and report to Sanijo.

"They wouldn't even let us keep the cannons we scavenged from our previous kills stating that 'it would make the planes too heavy'." Josh nodded.

"They're right though, a carrier isn't like a an airbase, our fleet carriers only have a deck length of about five hundred feet. On _them_ you could launch a cannon-laden fighter like your modified P-29. These escort carriers are only three-hundred twenty feet which is the bare minimum for most single engine take-offs. Navy carrier planes sacrifice armor and firepower just so that they can take off and fly. So don't expect any miracles up there." Bertram grunted and turned away making Josh laugh, then he returned to his brooding.

"Still though; Avalon. I wish I could go with you but unfortunately I can't fly a plane." Bertram shrugged.

"You could transfer to the Dracocorps. We've got a dragon carrier going with us."

"Now why would he want to do that? He's not in trouble or anything."

Both Josh and Bertram jumped at the new voice and then saw, of all people, Reyson Havvers, standing in Josh's door alongside a Navy admiral Josh didn't recognize. It was the Admiral who had spoken and he was smiling and holding a folder.

"Joshua de Launces, pack your kit, and prepare to ship out." Josh saluted but then faltered.

"To where sir? And under who?" The Admiral laughed and handed him the folder.

"To Avalon, lad; and under no one but yourself. Admiral Reede made quite the case for you. He said it was _your_ tactics and plan that allowed them to sink the enemy ship. The loss of the _Cyclops_ and the loss of its entire crew was not your fault. You are, however, recieving a new XO who should be arriving shortly." Josh looked at the Admiral in surprise.

"What did Walker do sir? I've never made a bad report of him, he's been an outstanding XO, I've even recomended him for his own command."

"That's what has happened Commander. Ensign Walker is now Lieutenant Walker and has been assigned a new Raven-class heavy destroyer, the _RNV Aurora_. He has been placed under your command." Bertram understood immediately and looked at his brother with a wide-eyed expression. Josh then caught the gist of it and he too, went wide-eyed, much to the humor of the Admiral.

"Yes, you have been promoted Joshua, from Lieutenant-Commander to Commander. You have also been placed in command of the naval squadron that will escort the carrier force to Avalon. Your command vessel has also arrived. I came to bring you to the dock so that you may see her for yourself."

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Josh couldn't hold his excitement. On the way, they had bumped into Walker who joined them as they walked down the docks. On either side of him were destroyers and destroyer escorts, light cruisers, cruisers, even a few battlecruisers and battleships. Finally they stopped before a ship that Josh, to be honest, had never expected.

Before him, at anchor, was a Superior-class battlecruiser. A battlecruiser was a ship that had the firepower of a battleship but the speed and armor of a cruiser. It was built to go into battle and inflict grievous harm to the enemy as well as keep pace with modern carriers and shield them from most surface and aerial threats. At that moment, a familiar whistle sounded and he saw Master Chief Barnes on the deck, wearing his dress-blue uniform, whistle in hand. The man turned and in a loud clear voice that echoed shouted the call.

"Attention on deck! All crew to the rail!"

Josh saw the faces of many he knew from the _Interceptor_ appear and many he didn't know and sharply salute to both him and the Admiral beside him.

"Commander, this is the _RNV Beowulf_, she looks like a standard Superior-class but in fact she's been modified. Her engines are more powerful, her armor is thicker, and her guns are eleven point five inch bore instead of ten inch bore. I had the dock work around the clock to get her ready for deployment as she is just in from her test run and hasn't been assigned a full crew or Captain yet for shakedown run. That's where you and your crew come in."

Stepping aboard the ship, Josh saw his old crew beaming and the new crew looking expectantly to him. Most likely the old crew had told them stories about him and they wanted to see if there was any truth to them.

_(Nothing bad, I hope. In any case, I suppose I'll have to work just as hard as the next to gain the trust of my new crew.)_ A short cough got his attention and he looked back to the Admiral who looked serious but couldn't hide a partial smile.

"If you are finished daydreaming Commander, I was about to say that there are five ships under your command. The first is Lieutenant Walker's vessel, _Aurora_. I am also assigning a Judge-class cruiser, _RNV Minotaur_, two new Aquila-class destroyers, the _Solent_ and the _Minerva_, and the Auger-class escort carrier, _RNV Bastion_, on which Wing Commander Havvers, here, is assigned. As soon as the escort carriers are ready and their crews and pilots assigned, your squadron will link up with two more groups and escort the carrier force to Avalon. Now then, I will take my leave to let you get familiar with your new ship and crew." The Admiral turned and nearly ran over Bertram who he acted like he'd just realized he was there and jokingly scowled.

"Captain Launces, don't you have a 'navy crate' to inspect? In fact, Walker, don't you also have a ship and crew of your own? Both of you, get _moving!_"

Move they did as Bertram all but sprouted wings and leapt down the gangplank and ran towards the nearby escort carrier, _Cochise_, while Walker vaulted down the gangplank and ran the opposite way to the _Aurora_ which, Josh was pleased to note, was moored almost right next to the _Beowulf_. Then the Admiral turned again, this time, his face more gentle and stoic.

"By the way Commander, that portrait you're making? I'd like a copy of it when it is done... my son was Machinist Mate Carver. From the letters he sent, he was glad to have served under your command. Don't let his death, and the deaths of those other brave lads, be in vain."

Joshua nodded and gave a salute as Admiral Carver departed. In the distance, Josh heard guns fire as the burial ceremony for Carver and another man who were both natives of Sanijo began.

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On board the _RNV Cochise_, Bertram arrived to see his squadron having lunch and were also conversing with a group of pilots whose insignia he'd never seen before. It looked like a circle divided into three sections: Blue, Red, and Green with gold outlining. Another group nearby had a box pattern with red and white sections. The Wing Commander, Janice Nells, one of the very few female pilots and even fewer female aces, came up and nodded to him, a cup of coffee in her hand.

"Noticed the new arrivals, huh, kid? Those with the circle are pilots from Tullinar. Tullinar fell early in the war to a joint Callinar/Damoneni invasion. These few brave souls managed to escape internment and now fight alongside us. They're called '_Jagdflieger im Exil'_, fighter pilots in exile. Their homeland conquered, they now fight with us for the sake of liberating their homeland. The King has assured them that once the threat to Avalon is finished, the fleet will then focus its efforts on Callinar and then liberate Tullinar. Hopefully with help from Praetoria." Bertram walked to the nearby coffee pot and got a cup and then rejoined her.

"The others?"

"Pilots from the Nevoran Aerocorps. Since Nevora still uses biplanes they've been issued Syllian CF-24s. Heh, they keep oogling their planes as if they were their wives." She kept chuckling as she departed and went to her quarters on the women's part of the ship.

Bertram chuckled half-heartedly. Naturally his squadron, being carrier nuggets and all, would be issued the obsolete planes while the more experienced pilots got the more advanced planes. Wingleader Nells and her squadron, for instant, were all issued the newer CF-29s, which, though armed with a mixed armament of two machineguns and two cannons, had the power and speed to take off of a escort carrier deck with no problem.

Silently he came up and sat down by Ayatane and sighed.

"Despite our accomplishments in Retorinc, everyone here still thinks we're nuggets." Ayatane shrugged then motioned to the Navoran pilots.

"At least they acknowledge us. The Navorans are mainly ignored because they haven't so much as lifted a finger since the Straits War. They only came here because their leaders see the threat posed by Damoneni. Their nation is almost entirely landlocked except for a narrow three-hundred mile stretch of coastland that is barely fifty miles wide with Espan's northern half blocking it off from mainland Navora." Bertram got up and went to the chow line but none of the sailor paid any heed to him. Annoyed, he sat back down.

"Trying to get something here is like trying to herd cats: impossible."

Bertram felt an object _'twump'_ on his head and grimaced when he realized it was Sahna's tail that had hit him.

"Sorry Sahne."

"Please be more careful with your words wingleader, any other cheetah would have hit you with something other than their tail." Ayatane sighed at this and shook his head.

"Honestly Bertram you really have a tendency to put your foot in your mouth don't you?"

"What can I say? I come by it honestly from my Father." At that moment, Jake laughed and raised his cup high.

"I'll drink to that, Cap!" A shout, predictably, echoed from across the room.

"Sergeant Havvers! No booze on duty!" The remark was so sudden that Jake coughed, sending a cascade of _very_ hot coffee down the front of his shirt and onto his pants.

"Gah! For crying out loud, it's coffee! _Coffee!_"

"Maintenance bay, _now!_" Bertram laughed at the Air Boss' remarks and looked at Jake.

"Now you're in it." Jake nodded sullenly as he rose, shirt and pants stained black from the coffee.

"Yup."

At that moment, an alarm rang out and the Captain's voice came over the PA system.

_"Attention all hands! Attention all hands! Deployment has been pushed up! Repeat: Deployment has been pushed up, prepare to sail immediately!"_

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Josh had been in the middle of organizing his quarters when his radio officer came in with a message to him. Josh looked at the message and then back to the radioman and nodded.

"Inform the XO to go to the bridge, confirm the message with HQ then return to your post."

"Aye, sir!" The radioman saluted, turned, then ran towards the XO's quarters. Josh set the hardwood boxes that held his unfinished painting and tools on his bed and set off at a run for the bridge.

At the same time Josh reached the bridge, he turned to see his new XO coming up the other hatch. Both saw each other and Josh gasped.

"E-Ensign Roberts?"

Ensign, or rather, _Lieutenant_ Anne Roberts, the woman who had survived the _Lemuria_ and had given him the idea about sinking the _Whirlwind_ using gas pockets, stood before him, though not the meek, timid woman he had seen in the briefing but a woman ready to recieve and issue all orders. Beside her stood Master Chief Barnes who looked glad to see both him and Roberts. Barnes then saluted and smiled broadly.

"Commander, I'm glad to introduce you to my daughter, Anne Roberts." Josh looked at him then to Anne who blushed slightly but kept her stoic behavior.

"Estranged, sir. Mother divorced him three years before the _Lemuria_ incident."

"Aye, because I was no longer a 'hero' and getting on in my years." Josh smiled and then nodded.

"Well, Lieutenant, I am glad to see a familiar face for an XO. Now then, I assume the radioman showed you the message?"

"Yes, sir. Last night Warfang was betrayed by the gnorc forces and has been besieged from both land and sea. Vessels from Damoneni have engaged and badly damaged the Praetorian Guard Fleet. Only the timely attack of our old S-class subs in the area halted the attack. By order of Fleet Command, we are to deploy immediately and rush to Warfang. Once we are near Warfang, all escort carriers will launch their planes to begin the counterattack." Josh nodded and then keyed the speaker to the radio room.

"Radioman, signal the _Aurora, Minotaur, Solent, Minerva, _and_ Bastion_ and inform them to set sail immediately. We are to take up the forward escort position of the carrier force and we will be going at full speed. XO, take us out of port."

"Aye aye, sir! Hoist anchor! Engines ahead one-third. Set course out of port." Josh nodded and then looked to the navigator.

"Bring us to the rendezvous point to gather our squadron and meet with our charges. Then chart our course to point two where we meet with the other squadrons, then plot our main course to Warfang." The navigator nodded, picked up his tools and set to work.

"Aye, sir. Charting course now." Josh turned to the XO and then thought of something.

"XO, the _Beowulf _is equipped with scout planes, correct?"

"Yes, sir. Along with us, the _Aurora_, and the _Minotaur_ each have one P-17 scout plane. We, however, have _two_. The _Bastion _also has scouts but they are full carrier planes."

"Do the pilots on board have any experience hunting subs?" Anne faltered for a moment and then one of the new crewmen spoke.

"Yes, sir! The MacDaniel brothers both piloted anti-sub planes and also were part of the Port Air Defence before being assigned to us." Josh nodded.

"I want them in the air, now! When I last deployed, Callinar had three subs waiting to ambush us. This ship is not armed with depth charges so I am relying on our scouts to find and sink any threats out of port. Have _Aurora_ and _Minotaur _launch their scouts as well." Anne saluted and walked to the bridge PA system.

"This is XO Roberts to Ensign Lee. Orders from the Commander: Launch both scouts immediately and have them patrol the airspace outside the port."

"_This is Lee, I copy. Tell the Commander to cover his ears._" Josh looked to Anne curiously when all of a sudden a loud bell went off throughout the ship along with Lee's voice.

_"Attention! Attention! Lieutenants Ian and William MacDaniel report to your planes immediately for outer port patrol. Repeat: Ian and William, get to your planes for outer port patrol!"_

"Ancestors, that was loud! I bet he woke up the whole port with that!"

"That's a battlecruiser for you sir. No more runners as the ship's just too large. Radios and sirens get more attention that way." Josh nodded then checked again.

"Radio the _Aurora, Solent, _and _Minerva_ and tell them to exit before us. Before you say anything about protocol or tradition, I want to make sure the seas are sub-free before I risk the escort carriers, our ship, or any of our other vessels. Destroyers are tailor made for anti-sub combat." Anne nodded and relayed the orders.

_"This is the Sanijo Port Authority to _RNV Beowulf_, why are you launching your scouts?"_Josh picked up the radio and keyed it.

"This is Commander Joshua de Launces, no need to worry, it's just a precaution."

_"Port copies. We'll launch our scouts to assist as well. Thanks for taking the initiative."_

"Not a problem, Port. _Beowulf, _out."

With everything in hand here, Josh stepped out onto the starboard observation wing of the bridge and gazed back at the catapult that launched the two scout planes. One was already up in the air and flying a CAP around the ship. Josh saw the catapult begin to steam and the second floatplane shot off the catapult, engine running at full speed, and pitched up and joined with the other before heading out towards the mouth of the port.

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Lieutenant Ian MacDaniel and his twin brother William had always wanted to join the Navy, see the world, explore uncharted corners, meet new people and cultures. When the Navy formalized and made public its new plans for a Naval Air Force, him and his brother were among the first to sign up. The brothers grew up in Hartsford, a small town that was split across the Savanin River in the middle of Syllia everybody called 'the Highlands'. Because of the Highlands own unique culture, a lot of things that seemed normal to a Highlander didn't quite mesh with the Navy, but Ian and his brother did anyway just for the heck of it.

Such as wearing a kilt at all times, even while flying a plane.

_"Sweet Mother! Me nethers are colder than a well digger's arse!"_ Ian sighed as his brother came over the radio.

"Grendel-One to Grendel-Two, if you're cold then _shut your canopy_! Or at least cut your radio off so that I don't have to hear ya!"

_"This is Beowulf, we can hear you down here Grendel Flight. How's the weather up there?"_ Ian chuckled and gazed at the sky.

"Ah, it's a wonderful sight up here Lieutenant. A wee bit cold but otherwise quite pleasant."

_"Wonderful. So, anything out of the ordinary?"_

"Wait one."

Ian jammed hard on the rudder pedals and _flipped_ the P-17 Scout over in an inverted position and looked at the sea through his canopy.

"Nothing looks out of place. A see a fishing boat that's slipped its moorings and is floating off eh...wait, no that's a couple out for a romantic getaway no doubt."

_"What's their position brother?"_

"Wha?! Now how the bloody hell would _I_ know? I'm not some peeping tom to watch a young couple making whoopee on the sea!"

_"I meant their map position you buffoon! Their location!"_

"Oh! Well, then they're about a half mile out from the twin spires and...hold the phone. I see something. I'm going in for a pass."

Ian corrected his plane and dove where he saw a shadow on the water. He slowed his engine and looked out at the water and saw a shadow _under_ the water.

"This is Grendel-One to Port, any subs in the area?" Ian pulled up and began to circle as the radio was silent. Then.

_"That is a negative Grendel-One! Negative! We have __**no**__ allied subs on patrol out of port. We are scrambling our planes."_ Then William came over.

_"And we're engaging!"_

Ian spared a moment to watch as his brother's plane went into a steep dive and released his depth charges, pulled up, and broke away before he hit the surface. Ian clicked the safety off his weapons. The radio came on and he vaguely heard someone, he guessed the Commander, say something about deja vu. Two explosions shot geysers of water into the air but no debris. Ian couldn't help but curse at William's rotten aim.

"That's a miss! I repeat: no impact!"

_"Damn!"_

"This is Grendel-One, engaging!"

Ian dived his plane down towards the shadow and released the charges. Pulling up he turned and looked back in time to see two more geysers shoot up from the water.

"Dammit! I missed as well, this thing is _deep_! Probably kissing the bottom in this area and moving at a snail's pace."

_"This is Eagle, en route from _Aurora_, along with Falcon from the _Minotaur_, allow me._"

The pilot from the _Aurora_ dove, brought his plane to where his left wing was over the bow of the shadow and his right wing was over the stern and let the charges go. He pulled up and barrel rolled in between the twin spires and leveled out just as the charges exploded and threw up a geyser of water as well as some debris, a fireball, and a cloud of smoke. Ian scowled.

"That's a direct hit! You bloody showoff!"

_"I heard that Grendel-One. This is Eagle, target destroyed. The port mouth is clear."_

_"Port copies, thank you Eagle. Oh, and thank you two as well Grendel Flight."_ Ian grimaced and angled his plane back towards the _Beowulf_ which had already prepped its cranes to pick the seaplanes back up onto the deck.

"No fair."

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(at Warfang)

Flaire launched another fireball at a gnorc siege engine that was attempting to breach the walls. In the distance, she could see Lord Spyro fighting a gnorc general who called himself 'Doctor Shemp'. Lady Cynder was with him, Lord Ignitus was fighing alongside Lady Magothera against the gnorc forces attempting to rally to their general. Flaire could also see the traitor, Gnasty, surrounded by his minions and barking out orders to them.

_ (It would be foolish to attack him while he's so well defended.)_ Flaire thought.

Then she saw something out of the corner of her eye and dodged at the last moment and gasped at what she saw. A huge creature, easily as big as an adolescent dragon, yet covered in black fur and black feathers that changed to red at the tips. She saw the Syllian dragons fighting these creatures with bloodlust and murder in their eyes. Even the normally stoic and calm Shimmer had a furious look.

A Syllian dragon near her was fighting one of the things and it almost had him. She breathed a breath of her blue flames and set the creature ablaze. Much to the Syllian dragon's relief and he managed to slash its throat with his tailblade.

"Thanks for that. Bastard almost had me." Flaire looked at the creature and snorted.

"What are these things?" The dragon had a sick, disgusted look on his face as he gazed at the creature.

"We call them Dread Griffons. We Syllian dragons can just barely tolerate normal griffons, but these...these _monsters_ we have an inate hatred for. Unlike regular griffons, these have developed a taste for human and _dragon_ flesh and take particular pride in smashing and devouring dragon eggs and hatchlings. If any of these creatures get through, it's our eggs and our young they will go after first."

Flaire felt the urge to retch but she held it back. These creatures would kill and _eat_ hatchlings? She mentally made a note to bathe each and every one of these things in hellfire when she found them. No mercy, no remorse, no holding back.

She heard a screech and saw another dread griffon, this one was bearing down on Lord Spyro, who didn't see it coming. She shot into the air like a dragon possessed and launched a 'hellfire fury' that incinerated the attacking dread griffon as well as several others that were closing on _her_. A group of dragons she recognized flew towards her. One she immediately recognized as her father, Flame.

"Flaire! Are you alright?" She nodded.

"Dad, listen to me, these things are called dread griffons. They kill and eat humans and dragons alike. You must send a wing to keep these monsters out of the city!"

Flame paled, no doubt thinking of Ember and grandchildren. Flaire's brother, Ash, was nearby and also attacking the dread griffons relentlessly. Nearby and even higher up, human and gnorc fighters engaged one another in relentless action. The aircraft were moving too fast to see them clearly yet she would occasionally see an enemy aircraft burst into flames and fall from the sky. From the human planes, occasionally a white sheet would appear with the pilot dangling from above. Depending on how close they were, dragons would swoop in and save the helpless humans and fly them to the walls.

As Flaire turned to attack more gnorcs and dread griffons, a loud screech filled the air and they saw Doctor Shemp vanish in a gout of flames with Spyro and Cynder standing victorious over where he fell. Flaire looked to Gnasty whose expression changed and became one of anger. He waved his club around and muttered something that sounded slightly off. He then fired a green beam of light upwards which suddenly arced and struck Cynder before anyone could react. Flaire watched in horror as Cynder was slowly encased in crystal. When the crystalization stopped, she was still as a statue.

A roar the likes of which nobody, not even Gnasty, would have expected, came from Spyro as he tore into the sky and angled his flight at Gnasty Gnorc.

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(meanwhile, somewhere over the ocean)

Lance Corporal Kay checked his gear for the sixth time in the flight and mentally went over his checklist again.

_(Carbine...check, loaded. Pistol...check, loaded. Combat knife...check.)_

He looked at the pack before him and mentally pictured the piece of canvas held within. He had only been with the Imperial Airborne for a few short weeks but in that time he'd learned about the risks and dangers the men of this group faced. It was certain death if the plane came under fire before they reached their target, certain death if their parachutes failed to deploy, certain death if the enemy strafed them in their parachutes. He heard a rustling and saw the Sergeant stand up and face the thirty men stuffed in the plane like sardines.

"Listen up! We will be landing at Lookout Island to refuel before heading the rest of the way in. We do not expect an enemy presense so a jump will not be needed. On the off-chance the shit has hit the fan, we _will_ be jumping into Warfang. That's right _into_ the city. I know most of you here are fresh from training and do not know how to do an urban jump. There's only one rule in that situation: don't hit anything that looks like a building."

Kay chuckled weakly at that as did the other 'greenies'. No matter what happened, tomorrow would be a very interesting day. He sighed and decided to dose off while a few more active members of the group began singing the Airborne Hymn as the engines of the large transport plane and dozens more like it in formation roared through the night sky.

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Geez! Cramp! Many finger cramps! Alright, for those of you worrying, Cynder is **not** dead. Recall the first ever Spyro game, Gnasty Gnorc encased the dragons in crystal and it was up to Spyro to free them. Besides, I _really_ don't feel like getting my head handed to me for killing such a beloved character, plus, that's just not my style.

Anyway, so, Bertram and Josh are now united and are coming to help, the Dread Griffons have made their first ever appearance, and now you know why Syllian dragons hate dread griffons so much. :D

Also, the reference to the pilots from foreign lands is rather simple. In the Second World War, pilots who escaped from Nazi occupied Poland and Czechoslavakia were recruited into the British RAF and flew numerous missions during the Battle of Britain. I know there were other squadrons from France, Belgium, and other lands but I don't know their squadron numbers. Poland was the 303rd and Czechoslovakia was the 310th.

FYI: "Aces in Exile" is a song written by the metal band Sabaton which praises the pilots of these foreign lands.

_**"In all of history, never before was more owed to so few."**_**-Winston Churchill.**

The 'Airborne Hymn' I mentioned is the song 'Blood Upon the Risers', an American military change-up on an old Civil War battle hymn that...'vividly' explains the risks of a paratrooper and the consequences if his parachute fails. Ouch.

Next Time: Aces over Avalon: A Hero Falls.

(A/N: No it does not mean a main character will die. Get your minds out of the graveyards. Sheesh, bloodthirty lot you all are.)

You know something? A kilt is a lot more comfortable than I thought...

Please review.


	12. Aces Over Avalon: A Hero Falls

Okay everyone, I'm back again with another update. I know, I know, it's ridiculous how quickly I can come up with ideas for the next chapter but my mind is an ever running machine. Sometimes though it comes up with the most random of things.

For instance I was just thinking about how to make chicken and dumplings and my mind switched to reminding me that I need to change the oil in my truck and then switched to washing the clothes and then it reminded me that Forged in Fire comes on soon.

I really like that show...anyway, onto the disclaimer.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYONE OR ANYTHING IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 11: Aces of Avalon: A Hero Falls

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Ignitus lay gingerly down on the marble floor of his and Thera's home while watching Wolfie go over Thera in a hurried manner. In the next room he saw his father staring at the still crystalized form of his mother, not saying a word but crooning softly, and watching with a wary eye as Doctor Stein examined her from snout to tail blade. It had been so for almost a week now.

After Gnasty had crystalized Cynder, Spyro had gone absolutely berserk and attempted to attack him with a convexity pulse. He would have flown straight into Gnasty's clutches if Ignitus and Thera hadn't intervened. Intervening meaning they rammed Spyro off course, forced him to land and risk getting attacked by him (he had almost gone completely dark) and then dragged him back into Warfang before Gnasty's forces could regroup.

It was thanks to the loss of Doctor Shemp which made Gnasty decide to withdraw for the moment, leaving his Damoneni allies to take the brunt of the counterattack. It was later with great care they moved Cynder to the house and since then Spyro had been on a vigil, eating and sleeping little, until he learned something.

As Ignitus winced from a particularly painful wound on his left flank, he saw Stein nod and step back and look at Spyro. The were well within earshot for what the good doctor had to say.

"Rest assured, Spyro, she _is_ alive. I can confirm a heartbeat as well as seeing some eye movement underneath her closed eyes. The trick is, of course, getting her out of the crystal. I've tried every tool I have at my disposal short of a bone saw and I couldn't make a scratch. I also have no way of knowing if she is consious or just sleeping while encased."

Spyro mumbled something and nodded. Then Ignitus rose to speak to him.

"Can't you do something? Anything to help her?" Stein took off his glasses and ran his artificial right hand through his greying hair and shook his head.

"Alas I cannot. I am a man of _medicine_, Ignitus, not magic. Just because I somehow manage to perform triage, surgery, and health physicals with artificial arms doesn't mean I can wave my hands and have the crystals melt off of her. Perhaps someone with an intimate knowledge of magic can help you?" At that moment, Pyre entered the house with Shimmer behind him, both looking glum.

"Shimmer and I combed the entire library along with Volteer, even the areas on forbidden magic and couldn't figure it out. He's never seen any kind of magic like this before. Whatever it is, it predates Warfang and most archives." Thera looked aside and then reached for a blue spirit crystal nearby. This caught Ignitus' attention and he looked at his mate curiously.

"Love, I doubt James has any more idea about magic than Stein does." Thera nodded at that but then looked at Cynder.

"I know that. Still, I think there has to be someone in my family line that knows something." Spyro breathed slowly and rose, shakily.

"You're going to talk to Malefor, aren't you?" Thera nodded, unsure of what Spyro would say. She was surprised when Spyro simply nodded and lay back down alongside Cynder. Thera uttered the phrase she had learned from her father about using spirit crystals and felt her consiousness fade. Before fading completely, she saw a single tear fall from Spyro's eye.

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Blinking away the stars and light shadows, Thera beheld the image of an incomplete Warfang. The sun was high in the sky, yet at the same time so was the moon and numerous stars twinkled in and out of sight along with a few shooting stars and comets. She felt herself growing relaxed when a cough nearly made her jump out of her scales. She turned and came face to face with Malefor who looked both bemused and worried at the same time.

"Interesting times you live in, granddaughter. Makes me wish I'd stayed around longer. Still, I wouldn't trade one moment here for all the time back in the mortal plane. For the first time in a long while, I know peace. I know tranquility. I...I am starting to remember what love is like thanks to my mate and my descendants here." Malefor gazed at the sky with a wonderous expression before noticing Thera's expression and frowned.

"What has happened my dear?"

Thera explained to him about Gnasty's betrayal, the Damoneni attack, and finally, the crystalization spell Gnasty cast on Cynder. This bit of knowledge made Malefor growl angrily.

"Blast it! I _knew_ someone would find that spell eventually! I should have destroyed it then and there but I was too far gone to have made myself do it. I thought of using it as a trump card in the war but never had time to find it and then prepare it." He sighed, noticed Thera's expression and then settled in to explain himself.

"During the years after Renna was slain and I was driven mad, I still made a habit of chasing down potential threats. The old saying goes that the last thing one egomaniacal monster, abyss-bent on destroying the world needs, is another egomaniacal monster, abyss-bent of destroying the world. One of the threats I found was an ape sorcerer name Jhinaki who created and perfected one of the most vile, yet inventive, pieces of magic I had ever heard of."

Malefor paused for a moment to dredge up the old memory. The discovery, the battle, and finally realization of what he had discovered.

"Jhinaki had developed a spell capable of imprisoning dragons into crystal prisons that, with time, would become tombs as the dragons inside these prisons wasted away. It is both clever, yet horrific and diabolical. The dragon or dragoness is trapped in the crystal, unable to move, speak, eat, or drink. Yet they can still breathe, and are still concious. They can hear every word said outside their prisons, they can sense who is near them. They cannot break free from the inside. If I recall correctly, the only thing that can break the curse is...hmmm..."

Thera watched as Malefor thought for a moment before then nodding.

"I believe that the only way to break the curse is either with true love's kiss, or you must first find the counterspell, read it aloud, then have the dragon closest to the trapped one break the crystal. It could also be that all you need is a really big hammer with a lot of force...Don't look at me like that! I _told_ you I was already half-mad when I found the blasted thing. I thought to use it eventually instead I lost it when I was sealed away the first time! I had no idea where those ancestors hid the spell. I honestly thought they had realized what they held and destroyed it. It seems that I was wrong." Thera thought back and sighed.

"Well it can't be true love's kiss because Spyro kissed Cynder and she didn't break free." Malefor nodded.

"Yes, I thought as much. Well then, the only course of action is to capture Gnasty Gnorc or find the counterspell. If there was still one of those ancient dispelling platforms lying around you could set her on it and she could break free the moment Spyro touched her. Alas, I made it a point to destroy each and every one I came across, and being the purple dragon, I knew where each and every one _was_. Ancestors I was so short-sighted."

Thera gazed at the sky for a moment and then looked back at Malefor.

"Is there no other way? Getting to Gnasty would take nothing short of a miracle and I doubt the counterspell is right under out snouts." Malefor chuckled and then followed her gaze to the sky above.

"If things were always easy there would be no point to life. Look up there, Thera. Do you know what each of those stars are?" Malefor looked at her and then saw her shake her head.

"Each star is a dragon's ancestor's own little world. Since you are my granddaughter, you share the same ancestry as me although you haven't gone back far enough to view _my_ ancestors. I remember a story _my_ mother told me of one of my ancestors, Tomar the Wise, a draconic wizard of unparallelled power and potential. He helped dragonkind advance from simple nomadic family groups to a civilized race and was even one of the first dragons to agree to an alliance with the moles. I often sought him out when I used spirit crystals in my youth but I never once found him.

Thera couldn't help but be enthralled by the story. Malefor noticed this and smiled slightly, looking up again as if remembering something.

"My father found him once, a dragon so massive is scale and age that even I as I am now would just barely fit into the palm of his paw. Alas, my ancestors and I are not speaking to each other. They seem to have a hard time forgiving what I've done and to be honest, I don't expect them to. Still, you have the answers you have sought and now it is time for you to awaken."

Malefor touched Thera's forehead with one claw and muttered a phrase. When she awoke, she found Ignitus coiled up around her and weeping softly in his sleep. She realized at that point how worried Ignitus was by this spell and resolved to break it as soon as possible. Cynder would not be in any danger for a while, and the family of dragons would need their strength if they were to attack Gnasty's forces.

Though malefor hadn't said it, he had dropped a hint. The key to finding or even creating a counterspell lay in the lost lair of Tomar the Wise.

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Though the Damoneni forces had been forced to retreat a few moments after they realized the gnorcs had left them holding the bag, Lieutenant Frank Stone, the fourth highest scoring ace in Syllia, and his squadron of CF-26s known as 'the Red Wings', took off from the Praetorian carrier _Inflexible_ and flew a patrol route around Warfang, the neighboring areas, the old dam, and lastly did a check over the last reported gnorc encampments.

Gnorc fighters had been doing probing raids for the past week trying to find a way over the city to bomb it but had no luck thanks to the ever present CAP around the city.

Stone's squadron was known as the Red Wings for one simple reason, every pilot painted the wings of his plane bright red while the nose, fuselage, and tail remained a very Syllian blue-silver color. Naval squadrona lacked the numbers of their land-based counterparts and were simply known as 'Red Wing', 'Blue Wing', 'Green Wing', etc., etc. The list went on as long as command could think of colors. There was even an all-female squadron known as the 'Scarlet Wing'. So long as there were unused colors and no shortage of volunteers, the Navy had its air force.

As Stone checked his guages and made sure they were reading right, his radio came on and he heard the voice of one of his wingmen, Mickey Caine.

_"Hey LT, you've been kinda quiet up here today. Everything alright?"_ Stone chuckled and then completed a turn that his wing mimicked flawlessly and he replied.

"Yeah, everything's alright. Just going through this checklist of things to look out for while we're up here."

_"Copy that. What's first on the honey-do list?"_ Stone chuckled and looked over the list and noticed the top thing and sighed.

"Praetorians lost one of their flyboys in this area during the skirmish yesterday. His wingleader saw a good chute but didn't see where he landed. Request is to do a slow fly-by and see if we can spot some white canvas in the tree tops. By the way, how're our new recruits holding up?"

Stone was referring to the three new pilots who had been assigned to him after they lost their wingleader yesterday on take-off and he lost three wingmen during the battle last week. All three of them were green as grass and still hadn't gotten their sea legs. Stone thought for a moment and recalled their names.

"Tom? Sam? Harry? You three awake? When your wingleader calls you on radio you nuggets are supposed to pipe up and answer." Immediately all three answered in the affermative, making him chuckle a bit. He was by no means a stern officer, he liked to give the new recruits a hard time to get them accustomed to squadron life. They'd get heckled like this until they were either transferred to other units, recieved new units themselves and were promoted, or the wing recieved new recruits in which the heckled would become hecklers in turn. As Stone completed another turn, he saw something off his right wing and dipped lower to see and then laughed when he saw a man, still dangling from his parachute, waving frantically at him while sitting amongst the limbs of a lone tree close to shore.

"This is Red Leader to Home, I think I've found your missing flyboy. Location is correct as listed. Please send recovery and tell them to bring a _really_ long ladder...and a very sharp knife." Chuckling was heard on the other end and then a voice came through from the _Inflexible_ confirming it. A second later, the radio piped up again.

_"Home to Red Leader, deviate from flight patrol plan, priority one. We've an entire force of HT-207s inbound with troops meant to reinforce the garrison. They were put on standby following word of the attack and numerous probing raids. Now that we have clear skies, they want to make up for lost time. Numbers are roughly ninety planes. Please escort them to the airstrip outside the city please. We're sending Yellow, Orange, and Green wings to assist."_

"Red Leader copies. Diverting patrol."

_"Red Leader, be advised, one of our destroyers along the patrol route just radioed in they had some spots on the radar. It could be nothing but all the same, take care."_

"Again, I copy. Sheesh Home, keep this up and I'm going to start thinking you care."

_"Only about your planes Red Leader. There are plenty more wide-eyed young men and women to volunteer for the service."_

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After flying over the ocean for a while, Stone spotted the planes his wing and the others were supposed to escort. He turned on his radio and pitched his plane up.

"Tally ho on the planes. Looks like I've found the planes we'll be escorting." A confirmation from the other wings was all he needed before flipping the radio to the next frequency used by Praetorian bombers and transports.

"Flight 207 Alpha this is Red Leader. Coming up on your port side, we have orders to escort you into Warfang."

_"207 Alpha copies. Pleasure to have you as escort Red Leader."_

"Just stick to tight formation and ease on in."

As the wings settled into formation, a burst of static came over the radio, making Stone rip his headset off before placing it back on with a growl.

"Anybody know what the hell that was?!" The radio beeped and Stone heard a voice come through.

_"Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is IMS Trout, we are under attack from unknown vessels. Repeat: we are under attack!"_

"Red Leader to Home, did you get that?"

_"We got it Red Leader. What's your current speed and position?"_ Stone checked his map and then looked at his throttle, speedometer, and fuel gauge.

"We're about fifty miles out from landing strip, we've got just enough fuel to make it back, currently at cruising speed, seventy-five percent power so we can match the transports." Stone waited for a moment and then heard the one thing he didn't want to hear.

_"Red Leader, go faster. Radar indicates numerous bandits coming towards you bearing north-northwest."_ Stone thought for a moment then flipped his radio to where all planes could hear him.

"I thought gnorc planes didn't have the range to intercept?"

_"They're not gnorc planes. They're Rotiart naval air fighters, F-10s. Furthermore, Rotiart's Ace of Aces is confirmed to be among their number."_

"Bloody hell."

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Dieter frowned again, trying to get used to the grating sound of the engine of his F-10 as compared to his more familiar land-based fighter. Since the sinking of the _Whirlwind_, Mechanos had been in a foul mood. Had it not been for Dieter's valiant attempts to catch up with the ship before it reached enemy held waters, Dieter had little doubt his head would have been among those that rolled the day Mechanos learned of the sinking.

With the obvious culprit having gone down with the ship, Mechanos took out his frustration on the closest living beings to him at the time. Dieter reminded himself to write a letter to Colonel Yaigeir's and Captain Talcott's widows and make an attempt to say that they died bravely in battle against an overwhelming enemy instead of being shot from behind by Mechanos.

Adding fuel to the fire as always was Reaper. Sergeant Marks had been such a nuisense that Dieter actually wondered if he would be of any help to the squadron or simply hinder them. True their role here was only to ensure the gnorc forces did what they were told although being out in force seemed to blow that thought out of the water. Perhaps the only shining moment for Dieter is that the Syllian's Fourth highest ranking ace was confirmed to be among the fighters he was tasked with intercepting. Still though, a part of him balked at the idea of shooting down transports that had no guns to defend themselves. At least with bombers there was always the chance of a worthy fight but unarmed transports were like shooting at parachutes.

Dieter, in his early years, had been a mercenary pilot for Callinar and had the honor of flying under the command of the Crimson Tide, Callinar's Ace of Aces dueing the Callinar Incursion. One of the first things he learned about the man was that he would not suffer fools and despite Callinar's reputation for unsavory and dishonorable tactics, he was different.

_"You are fighter pilots first, last, always."_ He would often quote to his squadron, especially if they recieved new members. Dieter had been no exception and once he'd been in battle and seen the barbarity of it, the Ace gave him another part of the speech.

_"Remember that a parachute is the only way a man can fall from the sky and remain unscathed. That is his lifeline. We shoot down machines, we are not murderers. If I either see or hear of any of you shooting a parachute of a downed pilot, I'll kill you myself."_

He'd done it of course. A pilot, hot-blooded and hungry for battle strafed a pilot in his parachute after he'd bailed out when his plane caught fire. Later they learned that the pilot he had strafed was the son of a Tellanian councilor and a relative to a high ranking cabinet member in Schildhaven who was a known sympathizer with Callinar whose support, as well as his supply convoys, dried up as quickly as water in the desert.

That pilot's one act of glory-seeking had cost Callinar its trade routes with a neutral country, cost them a very powerful ally, and also cemented the Federation's hatred for them as a whole and reaffermed their oath to defeat the enemy no matter the cost. The Crimson Tide had killed him without remorse, without mercy, and had his corpse hung outside the base as a warning to those who would strafe a defenceless opponent.

There were many other instances that made the Crimson Tide a great mentor. Once, when he learned that one of the Tellanian aces had been killed due to mechanical failure, he actually took his squadron and did a funeral pass for the deceased pilot and dropped a wreath of flowers into the grave on a pass. He'd caught hell for it afterwards from his commanders but he cemented himself in Dieter's mind as the perfect role model of an ace pilot.

Thinking on this, Dieter almost missed Reaper eyeing the enemy formations before them.

_"Captain! I'm seeing a lot of targets up here, ripe for the picking!"_ Dieter sighed, he had never said this before but now was as good a time as any.

"Listen up, all wings. We are here to shoot down machines. Engage the enemy but aim for the engines on the transports. If the paratroopers bail out, let them. If I see anyone firing on a parachute, I'll kill them myself, I don't give a damn who they are. Understood?"

All of his squadron (except for Reaper) confirmed the orders loudly while a few others in the other wings gave a few startled confirmations. He was by no means the superior officer in the formation but he was the most experienced and also had the highest kill score of any fighter there. Even the formation leader, a young man barely twenty, deferred to him.

He saw the Syllian and Praetorian fighters closing and clicked the safties off his guns and keyed his radio.

"Engage."

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Stone fired off a burst at the nearest enemy plane, then rolled and engaged another as they dropped to engage the transports. Off to one side, he could see his wingmen doing just as well as he when the first wave came at them. Years of flying had told him to keep his eyes alert and moving at all times. Every action or inaction had consequences. Saving an ally in distress could prevent an enemy from getting behind you or may put you right into an enemy's crosshairs. The same could be said for letting the enemy shoot down a comrade needing help, you may save yourself but you won't endear yourself to your comrades.

Looking back at the transports, he noticed that some of them were strafing the cockpits, engines, and tail sections of them but leaving the fuselage intact while others just shot at whatever was the larger target which was the fuselage. Several paratroopers had broken the windows out of the planes and set their machineguns, rifles, or submachineguns out the window and started shooting at whatever was nearest.

One identifiable transport in particular, had its door open and a paratrooper with a Praetorian L1A1 light machinegun strapped to the door with a static line and was firing into the enemy formations as they passed.

Stone knew that at this speed, it would be a lucky shot if the paratrooper managed to hit anything, even with the known power of the .303 caliber machinegun. Yet, just as Stone shot the canopy off another Rotiart plane, he saw a flash and saw the paratrooper, grinning wildly, as a Rotiart F-10 carrier fighter fell from the sky, minus it's left wing.

Stone took a moment to hope that the young man would survive this fight, then he turned and engaged another formation of F-10s, this time, he saw the ID of the lead plane: RS2-15A, the Ace of Aces, Dieter Muntz.

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Early in the fight a strafing fighter had raked the transport with bullets, killing the squad's machinegunner. Without thinking, Lance Corporal Kay had grabbed the machinegun, opened the transport door, used his own static line to lash the gun to the doorframe and began shooting at the enemy planes as they passed. A childhood life of hunting in Praetoria's Agincourt Forest had given him the knowledge to air carefully and only shoot when he was sure he could hit the target. Had there not been a shortage of materials to make rifle scopes, Kay would have been attached to the paratroopers as a sniper.

He was a good machinegunner, an even better rifleman, and, according to his Sergeant, was a guaranteed prospect for early promotion.

Kay zeroed in on a fighter coming for his transport's port engine and opened fire. The bullets ripped through the thin carrier plane's armor and struck the port wing magazine. The plane's left wing exploded and the plane fell from the sky. Kay paused to relaod when an explosion got his attention. Looking up, he stared, horrified, as a transport lost it's right engine, flipped upside down, and came down on top of another transport which a moment later exploded, sending both planes, their crews, and the paratroopers in them, falling to the ocean below.

He heard the Sergeant, his reloader, bite back a curse as Kay opened fire again, this time, he was firing at a fighter that was strafing the transports with wild fury. A reaper scythe was the only mark on the plane. He led the target, squeezed the trigger, and almost laughed as the bullets struck the plane's engine. He imagined the pilot swearing a blue streak as smoke began to pour from his engine. A second later, he felt the Sergeant tap his shoulder.

"Kay, we're well within range of our fleet to deploy rescue boats. This transport is coming apart and the pilot is giving us the green light to jump. I'm opening the other door, grab another static line, you're jumping last." Kay nodded and reloaded the weapon.

"Go. I'll cover you from this side."

The Sergeant opened the door opposite Kay and hit the buzzer to the cockpit, then turned to the paratroopers.

"Stand up! Hook up!" The troopers rose and fastened their static lines into the groove in the roof.

"Klaptan! Stand in the door!"

Kay turned back and fired on another fighter as it neared the formation. At that moment, he saw a sight that put heart back in him. A bright blue Syllian CF-29 with gold markings. Even though he was from Praetoria, he knew the plane, and he'd heard of the pilot.

Reyson Havvers, The Blue Baron of Syllia.

He turned back and yelled to his fellows what he saw.

"Reinforcements! We've got Syllian reinforcements coming in! The Blue Baron is leading them!"

The Sergeant nodded but kept his stance. A second later, the red light turned green, Klapton jumped out into the clouds and the rest of the troopers followed him. As the last trooped left the plane, Kay used his knife to cut the line holding him in the plane, and opened the door to the cockpit and tapped the pilot and copilot on the shoulders.

"I'm the last man on, time to go sirs."

The pilot nodded grimly, lashed a cord to the controls, and grabbed the parachute behind his seat. The copilot did likewise and soon both he, the pilot, and Kay were out of the plane in hurtling through the air.

Kay speared a glance back at the plane just in time to see the right wing buckle under the stress of flying with one engine. The wing fell away and the transport spiraled past them into the sea below. He felt a jerk and sighed, feeling his parachute open and he began the slow descent to the sea where already he could see a Syllian Naval group, a battlecruiser, a cruiser, three destroyers, and an escort carrier, already plucking parachutes out of the water.

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Dieter didn't know whether to be surprised or delighted to see Reaper break off and retreat due to being hit in the engine. Even more unbelievable was that the shot didn't come from a fighter but rather a pissed off paratrooper defending his transport. Nevertheless, he had ordered his squadron to withdraw once the reinforcements arrived. Still, even more surprising, he never expected all five top Syllian aces to be here. The sight of Reyson Havvers was enough of a shock but both of his wingmen, Kaleb Baker, and Henry Svenson, then Lieutenant Stone, and wonder of wonders, Bertram de Launces.

As more Rotiart planes fell to the aces, Dieter gave the order to retreat. As the Rotiart fleet came into sight, he looked at his watch and sighed. If the gnorcs followed the plan properly, they should be attacking right now.

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Flaire dodged another griffon and set fire to another as she and her group flew through the attackers. Not content with throwing themselves against Warfang, the gnorcs had opted for a 'weaker' target this time. Attacking the mole's Avalar settlement, known to most as 'Moleville' yet known by another name to the moles.

The moles had evecuated underground while their town force stayed above ground to fight back the gnorc and human mixed force. She silently swore as she flamed another group of griffons and then dropped a ball of fire onto the encroaching enemy ranks.

_(These griffons are far worse than dreadwings or wyverns. They just don't know when to quit!)_

Scanning the area, she saw a griffon about to pounce on a group of moles who had been cut off from the rest of their allies. Diving quickly, she attacked and shredded the griffon with her claws and fangs and turned to the moles.

"Get out of here now! We can't hold them back for much longer!" She took off again before the moles could reply and unleashed a frightful fire fury that incinerated several griffons and dropped flames to the ground that burned or incinerated any who touched them. Off in the distance, she spotted a lone griffon trying to retreat with what looked like a mole in its claws.

Sickened by the sight, Flaire pursued and managed to close with nthe griffon who saw her coming and hurled its victim down to the earth where thankfully the trees shielded the grisly sight from the air. Blood boiling, Flaire launched a fireball at the griffon whoi nibly dodged it and then turned back at her. She managed to didge the attack and then grappled with the griffon, a dangerous move but nessessary.

She drove her fangs into the griffon's throat and shook her head violently. The creature screeched once and fell silent. Flaire released her bite on the corpse and threw it down from the sky and then started to look around for another enemy. She heard a flapping sound behind her and turned, fire ready, and spewed blue flames at the griffon that was dive-bombing her from the clouds.

Feathers and fur ablaze, the griffon continued coming at her. Flaire thought to evade but something happened. Looking down, the griffon whose throat she had tore out had managed to hold on for a little longer and anchor her in one spot with its dead weight. She saw the griffon coming, felt it slam into her, felt its claws rake her face even as she unleashed one more blast of fire that incinerated both griffons.

Her sight went dark, she felt the air grow colder around her as she fell, and vaguely felt the pain of slamming into trees and she crashed to the forest floor. She was alive, of that there was no doubt for she felt incredible pain, but her vision was dark, her sight gone. She felt the gashes across her face and eyes just before the pain became too great and she slipped into unconciousness.

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All right everybody! This chapter was done faster than I thought. It truly isamazing how much one can get done when you have nothing better to do, and a good flow of inspiration. The end was a little rushed because I finished this at about 2:30 A.M. and I am dog tired.

I mentioned before I was with the local volunteer Fire Department, right? Well anyway, had training to do and managed to get some time on the fire hose (believe me, it's a lot harder than it looks to hang onto a fire hose pumping water at three-hundred gallons per minute). I also got to try out the new tools we've got such as the penetrating nozzle which is used for piercing light wood, aluminum, and various other thin materials and is also handy for the occasional hay bale on fire. (We've been getting a lot of those with how dry it is out here.)

Nothing's ever boring out and around here.

Well anyway, see y'all next time and, as always, please review.

Next Time: The Lost Lair


	13. The Lost Lair Part 1

Hello everyone! Well, summer is nearing its end and soon it will be autumn. This year has really flown by hasn't it? It seems like only yesterday I was using a blowtorch to defrost my truck (don't ask) and now I've got two old fans blowing to get some cool air around here.

To be honest I handle the cold much better than heat.

Sorry for the change in title but otherwise I'd still be typing until the cows came home.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 12: The Lost Lair Part 1

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Bertram stood with Josh, Reyson, Sahne, and Kani as the naval transports that had joined the fleet began unloading their cargo. There were soldiers, of course, from the Syllian 33rd Infantry as well as a few units from the 458th Royal Engineers and most importantly were tanks from the 21st, 22nd, and 56th Armored Regiments. There was even a few units from the 412th Armored Assault Force, also known as the Iron Legion.

Near the port, the surviving Praetorian aerial transports had landed safely and were off-loading their paratroopers and their equipment as well. All in all, the combined units of Praetoria and Syllia made quite the impressive sight. As Bertram turned to his brother, Ryu arrived in a hurried fashion to see his uncles.

He was in such a hurry, he plowed right into Reyson who fell backwards and landed on Josh's sea chest. Reyson rose a moment later and shook his head.

"Anyone get the number of that truck?" He then noticed Ryu, in dragon form, and chuckled.

"Figures. You de Launces brood, always in a rush." Ryu said nothing but looked at Josh and Bertram.

"Uncle Josh, Uncle Bertram, Mom needs to see you two right away. Something happened to Grandma Cynder in the battle. That gnorc, Gnasty, cast a spell which froze her in crystal. Please come!"

Needless to say Ryu had their attention and soon the whole group was running down the main street of Warfang towards Thera and Ignitus' home where Cynder had been placed and Spyro had been staying. Upon entering, both Josh and Bertram were embraced in a dragon version of a bear hug by their older sister who was glad to see them arrived safe. Bertram managed to break away from his sister and chuckled as Josh struggled in her grasp.

"Heh, sis? I think you may break the good Commander if you embrace him any tighter." Thera looked to Josh who was between trying to breathe and about to burst out laughing at Bertram's remark. Setting him down, Thera led them to the main room where Spyro and Ignitus were, along with a crystalized Cynder. Upon seeing Cynder, both Bertram and Josh got serious and looked her over. Josh nodded as he examined her.

"Is she consious? I...uh...Is she even alive in there?" Thera nodded and Ignitus looked to his dad who just managed to suppress a shudder. Thera then looked at a blue crystal.

"I spoke with Malefor in the Spirit Realm, he assures me she _is_ alive and consious. She can hear us, sense us, but cannot speak. He also said the only way to break the curse is to find the counterspell or defeat the one who cast the spell in the first place." Pyre came in along with Shimmer who overheard and sighed.

"You can rule out attacking Gnasty. Now that we know Rotiart and Damoneni are _both_ down here and aiding the gnorcs, you can bet your tails Gnasty is under some heavy protection from not just his gnorcs but also his allies. They know that with Cynder down, Spyro is a loose cannon...er...sorry Spyro but it had to be said. While on the subject of counterspells, we've been combing through the archives again for any mention of this 'Tomar the Wise' and found several references but no solid leads. According to Volteer, all the old records dating back to that time were destroyed after the Night of Eternal Darkness all those years ago." Josh sighed and then looked at Pyre.

"Do we know anything about Tomar?" Pyre chuckled dryly and nodded.

"Yes, but only the basics of any lore about him. We know he was the thirty-seventh child of a dragon noble who fervently believed in the ancient dragon rites of taking more than one mate. He was layed and hatched by the nineth dragoness of the noble's harem and apparently showed great potential at a young age and as such elevated him and his mother through the family heirarchy. He was attacked numerous times by a few of his older half-brothers and was heavy doted upon by his sisters and half-sisters due to his small size and apparently weak constitution and was ignored by the other harem dragonesses, save his own mother."

Pyre took a moment to recollect what else he had learned and also took a small sip of the drink that had been brought while he was telling them of Tomar.

"Later in life, his oldest brother, Nevor, a shadow dragon and the heir-apparent took to teaching Tomar about magic and strengthening his weaknesses. The only surviving writs of Tomar's say that to the young drake, Nevor was like a second father and a more than suitable replacement to his absent noble father. Later he was shaken by Nevor's assassination at the claws of another brother, Vekx, and tore off in pursuit of him, eventually cornering his half-brother and killing him in a duel to the death above an erupting Boyzitbig." At this point, Shimmer interupted and spoke.

"His history aside, the only surviving record states that Tomar was extremely paranoid after Nevor's death and built several lairs in the course of his life, eventually abandoning all but one of them when he himself took a mate and became a father. He was rather an isolationist by this point and only came to the newly completed city of Warfang to see his children and mate or buy alchemical and magical supplies for his experiments. His lair was never found and as we said all records of its possible locations were lost some time ago."

Spyro looked at Shimmer, clearly he was not going to give up so easily.

"Are there any possible leads?" Pyre grinned slightly and nodded.

"Yes, there are three possible locations. However, they will be tough to get to as all three have been fortified by Gnasty's forces. The first, and closest, is near the ancient fortress of Nibellung which was lost to the apes and has never been reclaimed. The apes there still suffer from Malefor's curse of undeath and attack anything. The gnorc forces that are stationed there are fighting both our troops and the undead. The next is a little farther out. It lies somewhere in the Poisonous Forest. Remember, Tomar made his lair there _before _the woods were poisoned so it's possible that the lair could be in pristine condition. The last...well, the last is somewhat of a mystery. The last possibility is in a place called the Crystal Plains but no one knows where they are. We figured the name of the place might have changed but then again, shortly after Tomar's death, it is said a massive earthquake split a section of the realms away and sank them. All we know is that the Crystal Plains were a place where storms frequently appeared and spawned from for some unknown reason." Spyro perked up at this and had a feeling he'd seen such a place not once but twice. His gaze lowered as he stared at his frozen mate and after a moment, he nodded and turned to Thera.

"I think I know of a place that sounds like these 'Crystal Plains'. When Cynder was Malefor's general, she had a fortress in a place now known as Concurrent Skies. During the conflict eighteen years ago, James and Lysa helped us retake the land from Dalon's forces and then destroyed the old castle. I haven't been back there since but the place sounds about right."

Pyre stared at the purple dragon in shock. Why hadn't _he_ thought of that? Still, the guess was probably correct. Pyre cast a spell he learned and made a map of the realms appear before them. Concurrent Skies was the furthest from their position and was also the most heavily fortified.

"Just so that we don't rule anything out, let us start taking the points one by one. Chances are Gnasty stumbled upon the spell accidentally whuch means that he may not be aware of Tomar's lair. We'll have to think of something." Josh rose and started out, raising some glances from his brother and sister as well as his nieces and nephews. When he saw Spyro's glance though he froze and then turned, he had an idea.

"I'll try to put in a message to Dad and tell him of the situation. If he can get a request to Air Command, we can have some heavy bombers as well as some more materials sent here to help. I have little doubt that once he learns that Damoneni _and_ Rotiart are here and helping the gnorcs, he'll throw all of his weight behind a support operation." Thera understood and nodded as Josh turned and left the house and, once outside, broke into a dead run to his ship.

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Back on board the _Beowulf_, Josh stormed into the radio room with an urgent look on his face. The radio operator looked at him with a confused expression but still snapped to attention.

"Commander! What do you need sir?" Josh turned to him and shut the door behind him.

"I need you to send a message to my Father using the old ship to shore transmitter. Things here have gone belly-up with Rotiart's appearance and we need some serious hardware. Using the newer radios won't work as Workshop Zero isn't on the grid. Plus, I don't want anyone getting wind of this until we have the supplies coming in. Can you do this?"

The radio operator stared aghast at Josh for a moment, then smiled and nodded.

"Yes, sir. Just tell me what you want me to send." At that moment, the door opened and in came Lieutenant Roberts with a stern expression.

"Commander, I'm afraid that cannot happen. As part of not only the Royal Navy but also Naval Intelligence, I cannot allow you to send such a transmission." Josh sighed and turned to face his XO.

"A spy? Command assigned a spy as my XO? Why am I not surprised." Roberts held herself casually.

"I am not a spy, I am an officer for Naval Intelligence. Commander de Launces, you caught the attention of the Admiralty when you sunk the _Whirlwind_ is such a spectacular fashion. I was assigned to see if you possessed the same tactical prowess of your Father. So far, I have been impressed but if I allowed you to do this you would be sacrificing your career and I would have failed not only my superiors but also my father and my homeland."

She sighed and then looked back to him, her expression softened.

"In order to prepare myself for my assignment to you I went over everything the office knew of your family as well as your extended family. I was coming to report to you when I overheard everything. Your Father is currently embroiled in Top Secret projects for Syllia and our allies and cannot under any circumstances be disturbed. Once he hears what has happened, he will drop everything to come here and thus place himself in grave danger. So instead of calling him, allow me to make a call of my own."

Roberts went to the radio and switched the frequency to another that Josh did not recognize and then tested the radio to see if it worked. Then she sat in a chair nearby and spoke.

"This is Roberts calling Home. Come in Home." There was a burst of static as a reply came through.

_"Lieutenant, wonderful to hear from you again. I've been meaning to try and contact you through normal means. How are things aboard ship?"_

"Wonderful Eddie but this isn't a social call. Is Old Jack there?"

_"Oh great so you have all the time in the world to speak to the Chief but never a chance to chew the fat with your old friend, eh? Wait one...Jack's here."_

A few moments passed before a new voice came over the radio. This one sounded gruff and spoke plain.

_"Roberts what the hell happened? We've been up to our eyeballs in transmissions from ally and enemy alike from all fronts and now you call us from yet another front. Whatever it is, make it good and fast. And where do get off calling me 'old'?"_

"Sir you _are_ the oldest member of the Admiralty but enough of that, we have a situation here. The gnorcs that betrayed Avalon have backing from both Damoneni _and_ Rotiart. We have sen the evidence firsthand and are also requesting reinforcements, mainly in the form of heavy bombers and gunships."

_"You young people these days. Do you honestly think I can snap my fingers, dance a jig, and a few dozen bombers will fly out of my ass? You think I keep gunships in my pockets? Still though, Rotiart huh?"_

"Yes, sir and we don't need a few dozen bombers we need a few _hundred_. An entire air division" There was a strangled cough on the other end and a pause before the reply came.

_"I think I misheard you. You said you need a few __**hundred**__ bombers? Do you have any idea what sort of shit-storm that would raise if I transmitted orders for an entire division to take off and fly for Avalon? The higher-ups will want some mighty strong answers."_

"The enemy is in fortified positions throughout the nation. We have identified several strongpoints that need to be taken out. We also need to commence bombing raids in gnorc territory so that we can divert attention from these points. If the enemy force can be silenced before Rotiart gets a foothold here, we can force a retreat and also bloody Damoneni at the same time. Both want Avalon for its proximity to Syllia's underbelly. If secure Avalon, Rotiart and Damoneni will be back at the drawing board, and the gnorcs will be out of war."

_"Remove the dagger at our throat and kick the enemy in the nuts...typical you Roberts...I like it! I'll draft the orders immediately. Any specific requests?"_

"We need a bomber wing that has crewmen who have some experience here so perhaps the 23rd Bomber Group and the 133rd Gunship Corps. In particular Colonel Hartwig's new bomber wing, the 8th."

_"Done. I'll also send in a few more units that will give you enough airpower to crush the enemy. Even if Rotiart is present."_

"Roger that, Roberts signing off."

The radio went dead and Roberts changed the frequency back to the standard one and turned, her face a mix of relief and worry.

"Command will crucify me for this when it's all said and done but at least we'll get what we've been promised. Old Jack never goes back on his word. At least not as long as I've known him he's never gone back on it."

"Why would Command-"

"Because I'm an intelligence officer and not a field officer. I am not supposed to be able to order units into battle, only give recommendations as to what units are suitable to what tasks are before us." Josh nodded and then turned to look out the porthole in the radio room.

"Any idea when they'll arrive?"

"They will gather at Bellenore, our southern-most airbase, take on fuel there, then fly over the ocean to us so about two days, three at most." Josh nodded and left the radio room. He stopped in the door, half turned and looked at Roberts and smiled.

"Just so you know, I treat my crew like an extended family. If anyone tries to do _anything_, much less crucify you for simply requesting reinforcements, I'll give them _my_ answer and protect you so long as you sail with this ship and crew."

Anne blushed a little as Josh turned back and left the room. She glanced at the radioman who quickly averted his eyes and began whistling a tune as he fiddled with the radio.

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(the next day)

Ayatane silently swore as he worked on the engine of his plane. The mechanics here were all second-rate and didn't know shit from syphilis. Thankfully, when one was student of Reyson Havvers, you learned to double-check the mechanics work and how to correct any oversights. Granted, most mechanics knew what they were doing but occasionally someone would do something 'half-assed' and call it good enough. There was no room for 'good enough' on an airplane.

A feline snarl from behind him made him turn and see Sahne trying (unsuccessfully) to remove the cowling from her engine. Despite being in the air force, Sahne hadn't really grasped mechanical work. She knew the difference between a three-eighths socket wrench and a quarter-inch driver but there were so many damn bolts, screws, and clamps that even Jake got confused and he was Reyson's son.

Still, he glanced at her and noticed the problem and walked over to her.

"Need a hand, Sahne?" Sahne let out a startled yelp and turned to face him. Clearly she had not heard him working or had tuned him out. She looked at the engine and nodded.

"I don't know how you humans keep up with all of this. There are so many parts and pieces to an airplane. Growing up the most difficult thing for me to learn was how to make and string a bow. That is kitten's play compared to this. Ayatane glanced at the tool she held and chuckled.

"First off, you're using a Praetorian tool instead of Syllian. Praetoria uses the old metric system while Syllia uses the standard system. Secondly, that's a ten millimeter wrench and you need a quarter-inch. Here, allow me."

Ayatane pulled the wrench from his tool kit and rapidly removed the nuts and screws that kept the cowling fitted to the frame and then dropped the cowling and set it aside. He looked at the engine and groaned.

"Didn't the ground crew here ever learn the meaning of 'preventative maintenance'? You go up in this crate and everything that can go wrong _will_ go wrong. There's build up in the valves, there's gunk in the cylinder, the cam looks about rusted through, and the radiator's leaking. Give me a moment and I'll see if they have a spare plane around here somewhere cause this wreck ain't going up anytime soon."

As Ayatane turned to leave, Sahne grabbed his arm and nodded, a smile replacing her earlier snarl. However, she tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the base officer approaching them, folder in hand.

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(a few minutes later)

Though he was no longer on carrier duty, now that he was ashore, Bertram still wasn't given a proper Syllian plane. Most of the Syllian RAF here was comprised of antiquated P-12 biplanes and only slightly better P-14 monoplanes.

The P-14 was a remarkable little (and I _do_ mean little) plane in its day. The civilian version had won air show races throughout Syllia and abroad thanks to its supercharged engine but the military version downgraded the engine to make room for armament, two .30 caliber machineguns in the nose, two more in the wings, and one .65 caliber machinegun through the propellor hub. It was a little smaller than the CF-24 and had an armored cockpit with a small canopy that slid forward to allow the pilot in.

Once in, the view was limited. A pilot could see above, in front, and to his sides but he had special mirrors to see behind him. An upside is that the plane was so maneuverable nothing could out-turn it. A popular joke was that the famous actor, Arno Schwartz's shoe was bigger than the plane.

Bertram wasn't alone in his discontent. Many pilots, including those from Tullinar and Nevora as well as his own squadron, didn't like the plane and liked its big brother, the P-16 'Flying Brick', even less. As he sat at the air base's mess hall, Ayatane and Sahne came up to him and sat down with him. He could tell immediately that what he heard wasn't going to be good.

Ayatane worldessly handed him a folder containing orders to scour the enemy lines. That wasn't so bad but then he read what kind of plane he would be flying. He stared at the paper in complete disbelief. He rose and stepped out to go to the hangar where the plane was kept. Ayatane and Sahne wordlessly followed him.

At the hangar, Bertram grabbed the rusted handle and pulld the door open and gazed in silent horror what he was to fly for this recon mission over enemy lines: an antiquated B4-L Reconnaissance bomber. This plane was only active for two years before it was replaced by the more modern and faster HB-18. It required a crew of ten but could be flown by three and built using a combination of metal armor, wooden frame, and fabric skin. Almost immediately the base commander came up with the men who would be going up with him.

"Captain de Launces, you have been assigned to fly a reconnaissance mission over the enemy lines. Ideally I'd like to assign you a better aircraft than this but this old girl is all we have left that's ready to fly. These men will be your recon officer and co-pilot. You will not be carrying bombs and this plane has already been refitted with the nessessary equipment for recon. Your squadron as well as the 303rd and the 310th will be escorting you. Should you come under enemy air attack, turn around and retreat back to base. You take off in three hours. Good luck, and godspeed."

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(three hours later)

The B4-L was on the runway, fueled and idling. Bertram sat at the controls, his co-pilot, Jason Beeman, rattled off the pre-flight checklist and made sure everything was ready. A ground crewman raised a flag signalling all was clear. Above, Betram's squadron and escort screen flew above him. He nodded to Jason and pushed the throttle up to full power. The bomber's four engines roared to life as it sped down the runway. Bertram turned on the radio and checked it to make sure it was working.

"Paladin to Base, we are up and away."

_"Copy that Paladin. The recon officer on board will direct you to where you are needed so stay alert and listen to him. If you are attacked, you are the senior officer and thus in command. This intel isn't worth dying over."_ Bertram placed a hand over the radio and groaned.

"Now he tells us." Jason shook his head and gazed back at the controls. With a lurch, the bomber lifted up and then wheeled right to the objective, rising as it went.

The fighters settled in around the bomber early on and stayed with it as they leveled out at twelve-thousand feet, the maximum altitude for the antiquated bomber. The intercom kicked on and Bertram heard the voice of Lieutenant Smith, the recon officer with them.

_"Okay Captain, the first objective should be a spot known locally as Nibellung. Intel reports a lot of fighting going on around there. If the fighting's too heavy, we'll just send in the bombers and level the place. King Skyclaw has stated that the fortress cannot be retaken and should be utterly destroyed."_

Remembering what Pyre had said about the fortress, Bertram had an idea.

"Copy that Lieutenant. By the way, if you notice anything out of the ordinary like perhaps a cave hidden from ground view, let me know. My sister is looking for an ancient dragon lair that is supposedly around these parts."

_"What's her interest in this lair?"_

"It belonged to a dragon wizard of sorts and she's hoping to find a counterspell for a curse cast on the dragoness Cynder in the battle a week ago."

_"So, humanitarian mission eh? Alright, even though that's not the mission, I'll keep an eye out and mark it on the map as I see it. Would you like to know the other spots?"_

"If you please. I'd like to know how big a bullseye I'm painting on my back."

_"Two other points of contact: the next is the ruined fortress in Concurrent Skies and also a mole village that was lost yesterday while you fighter pilots were playing hero for the Praetorians. Small engagement, dragons and Rotiart dread griffons mainly but we did lose one of our more promising fighters, young dragoness named Flaire. Request from command to try and find her if alive if possible or at least find where she crashed when she was struck."_

"If we find her alive?"

_"Mark her location on the map and drop the care package we have on board to her. If not, mark the location of her corpse and send in a reclaimation team. Rotiart dread griffons eat dragons you know, so we don't want the body of an ally ravaged by these monsters."_

At that moment, Bertram shuddered and gripped the control stick tighter. Jason noticed this and looked at him concerned.

"You okay Captain?" Bertram shook his head.

"Just thinking. You know I'm technically a dragon but in human form. I cannot imagine any creature eating a dragon, or a human, for that matter. The thought that I could be killed and my body desecrated like that reviles me. To be honest, I'd feel a lot more comfortable if we had some gunners on board." Jason nodded.

"I know what you mean. I feel naked up here in a bomber with no gunners but we needed speed and the plane couldn't take off with both recon equipment and guns. It was one or the other and the base commander deep sixed all the guns except for two: nose and tail. Man look at that view. Some people point out that old Syllian bomber designs leave the pilot and co-pilot exposed thanks to the 'greenhouse nose' design, but I like it."

Bertram nodded and looked around the cockpit of the bomber. True the entire upper part of the cockpit was nothing but metal frames and windows and gave a wonderful view, but in a more modern age it was a literal glass jaw, a weak point.

For the moment anyway, he could just enjoy flying for the first time in a long while. Gazing to his left and right and seeing the escort planes darting back and forth allowed him a moment to wonder of things that were not yet to be. He set the throttle, eased into the planned course and let the world fall away.

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Okay everyone, I know there was no parting of the chapter previously but hey, who plans for everything? Anyway, so the search for the lair is begun and its Bertram in the hotseat this time. I just need time to piece the next few chapters together and while I'm doing that, you guys can check out my Breath of Fire fanfic if you want, or just wait patiently. Either way, you won't be disappointed.

As always, please review!


	14. FTR

Alright everyone, I hope y'all haven't grown too lonely, I'm like a boomerang, I always come back. (gets hit with a boomerang)

Who threw that? Nevermind...

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 13: F.T.R.

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Josh sat at the Officer's Club drinking the beer he'd ordered and watching the older crewmen celebrate. Still, he couldn't shake his worry. Bertram had departed earlier that day in an old bomber on some crazy recon mission. Naturally Thera flipped when she heard but then the targets were disclosed and it all made sense.

Bertram was going to two of the three possible locations for the hidden lair. Naturally the military couldn't send forces into the poisoned forest (in recent years, the poison had gotten a lot worse) so the lair would have to be in either Concurrent Skies or Nibellung Fortress. He had gone up with a sizable escort of over twenty-four planes; his own squadron, the 242nd, the Nevoran Squadron, now designated the 303rd, and the Tullinar Squadron, now designated 310th.

He was just about to get back up when Anne Roberts, his Executive Officer, or XO, sat down with him, drink in hand. Josh must have looked surprised because the first thing out of her mouth was...

"What's the matter Commander? Never seen a woman in need of a drink before? Or just never figured me for a drinker?" Josh chuckled and sat back down.

"The last actually. The first time I ever met you, you were meek and timid and..."

"Ugh, utter one more word and, superior officer or not, I'll swab the deck with you. That was just an act. Admiral Reede advised me to act as such until I was out of the briefing. He knew that most of the officers there still considered the Navy a man's duty. To be blunt, sir, you're the first officer other than Reede I've served under that recognizes me as an officer and not just another woman." Josh nodded and ordered another drink.

"Well, I suppose I've been trained to think that way. I've seen how my Mother and my older sister act. The way they are so independant, so assertive. True that they, like me, are dragons in human guise but the way human men act around them made me recognize at an early age that women are just as competent as any man. You have some that are more or less so like any man but by majority, they can do the same things we can. Heh, I _had_ to learn that lesson well, otherwise I'd have two _very_ angry dragonesses to look forward to meeting every single day. Pity my older brother didn't learn that lesson as well as I did." Anne looked at him curiously.

"You have an older brother? I thought it was just you and Captain Bertram." Josh swallowed his beer and laughed.

"No, goodness, no. I have an older brother, George, who serves with the Armored Tank Corps, a land lubber. He once smarted off that in no way, shape,or form could a woman operate a tank or properly use it in combat. Well, a few female recruits overheard this and they, along with my Mother and sister, took an old HT-26 Trainer tank out on the assault course and aced the entire thing with a perfect score. He was red-faced for a week out of embarrassment." Anne couldn't help but laugh at the story as Josh went back to his drink.

"So, I'm the only other officer than Admiral Reede who respects you. From what I've seen so far, I'm surprised you don't have a ship of your own yet." Anne actually looked stunned for a moment and looked at him.

"Why do you say that? The fact is that I _have_ been offered a command position but I do much better work as an assistant and an intelligence officer. I could lead except I don't _want_ to lead." Josh said no more and nodded, slowly drinking his beer and looked at his watch.

_(Bertram's got to be nearing his first objective by now. I hope he makes it back.)_

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Bertram scanned the ground below, making notes of out of place areas where the lair of Tomar could be. This was the second pass he'd done over Nibellung Fortress and truth be told, the sights below horrified him. While there were no anti-air guns to worry about, there _were_ old cannons that the apes had installed here long before he was born that both undead apes and gnorcs were using to shoot both at each other as well as futily shoot up at him when they flew over. The view at four-thousand feet was enough that he could make out individual soldiers or undead. As he completed his pass, he heard the intercom activate and heard the recon officer, John Smith, read his findings.

_"No serious enemy threat here except the undead. This position is tactically unsound for an assault and thus is recommended for bomb disposal only. Returning bombers and aircraft that have not dropped their ordnance will be directed over this location and will drop their unexpended ordnance below. Furthermore, several locations seem possible for a lost dragon lair but all locations are open to the environment and have likely been looted. Captain, please proceed to the Concurrent Skies objective."_

"Copy that Lieutenant. Listen, we're going pretty deep into enemy territory, the fighters may have to engage enemy planes, can you man the nose gun and shoot it to make sure it works?"

_"I'm primarily a recon officer but have recieved training in light weapons. A heavy machinegun is not light."_

"Well cycle a few rounds through the gun and make sure it's working. A common tactic of the enemy is to strafe the cockpit and nose of the bomber to kill the nose crew, pilot, and co-pilot. We need a nose gun to fend off any frontal attacks."

There was a pause on the other end and then the sounds of the nose gun firing reached Bertram, then the intercom.

_"Gun works just fine. Fifteen rounds wasted on a pointless excersice."_ Bertram groaned and then felt his co-pilot, Jason Fuller, tap his shoulder.

"Captain, can you handle the plane for a moment? I believe there is a tail gun on board as well and I was a tail-gunner before I became a pilot." Bertram felt the plane for a moment and then nodded.

"Go ahead, she feels light as a feather. Not like those modern bombers that are like flying walls."

Jason chuckled at that and unbuckled his flight belt, stepped out of the cockpit and went down the plane to the tail position. A few moments later, the tail gun fired and Jason keyed the radio.

_"Comms check. Captain, do you hear me? The tail gun is locked and loaded."_ Almost immediately, an incredulous and irate Lieutenant Smith blew open the intercom.

_"L-Lieutenant Fuller?! G-Get your ass back to the cockpit! A bomber cannot have one pilot while the other plays hero in the ass end of a bomber! What if we're attacked?!"_ Bertram keyed the radio and spoke.

"Because another classic tactic for dealing with bombers is to shoot from behind. Due to the fact that we have only two guns, one forward, one in the tail, we are a distinctly vulnerable target. You can have both pilots at the stick and our asses waving in the breeze or you can have an experienced tail gunner covering our asses and a very experienced pilot handling a bomber that responds as easily as a fighter. Your choice." Bertram clicked his radio over to the group signal to drown out Smith's reply and keyed the radio.

"All escorts, disregard shots fired. Just flexing the muscles. They gave us two guns to protect this thing with." Ayatane voiced his (and the squadron's) incredulity.

_"Only two guns? That's like waving a big steak in front of a starving dragon!"_

"I know, that's why I'm counting on all of you. Do not go off seeking glory or kills, if this bomber is lost before we transmit the intel, this mission fails. If you guys let the enemy shoot us down, I swear to come back from the beyond and breathe fire on each of you." He heard Jake over the radio laughing.

_"A nice threat Captain, but you're a shapeshifter. You can't breathe fire."_ Bertram groaned as the rest of the squadron, including their foreign friends, laughed together.

"Nice Jake, now no one will take me seriously."

_"Just doing my job."_

At that moment, Jacob came back up and sat down, laughing. Apparently he had overheard the entire exchange as well. He was just fastening in his belt when something caught Bertram's eye. Looking to the far left and up, he saw a small group of planes approaching. They fit the profile of the gnorc planes. He turned to Jacob.

"Lieutenant, get back to your gun." Jacob looked where Bertram pointed and cursed, leaping out of his seat and running for the tail.

"Smith! Man your gun, enemy bearing three-zero-zero! Fifteen plus gnorc planes!"

Bertram switched frequencies and repeated the message over the radio.

"All escorts, enemy fighters sighted bearing three-zero-zero, elevation angels ten. Incoming! Incoming!"

Immediately, Ayatane, Sahne, Jake and the 303rd broke off and flew directly at the enemy planes closing. Bertram saw three planes make it through before vanishing from sight.

_"Tail section reporting! One enemy behind us! Engaging!"_

The sound of the tail gun firing instinctively made Bertram slam the rudder hard and twist the controls so that the bomber was beginning to turn hard right. Down below, he heard Smith curse as his charts apparently went flying from his desk.

_"Captain! Level the plane for goodness sake!"_

At that moment, a gnorc plane flew in front of the bomber but the nose gun stayed silent. A moment later, another gnorc plane flew by the bomber, still no bullets. Bertram frowned.

"Smith! Either you fire that damn nose gun or I'll let _you _fly the plane while _I_ shoot the enemy!"

Apparently, the gnorcs thought the nose was defenceless and one began coming straight at them. A second later, the nose gun opened fire and shredded the poorly armored gnorc plane.

_"Enemy plane down."_

"Glad you could join us."

A moment later, Ayatane came over the radio, his voice triumphant.

_"Captain, the remaining enemy planes are retreating. All escorts are back in position."_

"Roger that. Jacob! Get back to the cockpit. If we're not under threat I need you up here so we can push the plane to full power."

_"On my way, sir!"_

"Smith, get your charts ready, we're nearing the next recon point. Fighters, keep a sharp lookout for the enemy, while we're on recon we can't defend ourselves."

A second later, a large explosion ripped through the sky and several black puffs of smoke appeared before the bomber. Bertram knew what it was and keyed the intercom.

"Jacob get your butt up here now! We've got flak!"

After the first flak burst, several more appeared and began dotting the sky with them. Bertram gazed at the altimeter and sighed.

"Smith, I'm going to try and get us above this mess. Can you still spot from higher up?"

_"Yes Captain, I can. I have a pair of binoculars I can use to scan the ground."_

"Now's a good time to get them out. We're climbing to angels eleven. Escorts, follow the leader."

The B4-L shuddered as it climbed and the escort fighters kept pace with the large plane easily. Flak still burst around them but luckily nothing had been hit. Yet.

A sudden burst from the radio made Bertram cover his ears. He made out a few words but that was it. Jacob looked to him and shook his head.

"We just lost a fighter with the 310, he took a flak burst to the tail."

"This is Paladin, does anyone see a chute?"

_"This is Hammer, I see a chute. Repeat: good chute. He's out."_

Bertram gave a sigh of relief and leveled the plane out. After a moment, he keyed the intercom.

"Smith, notice anything odd?"

_"Aside from the fact that giant crystals are growing from the ground or that the larger crystals seemed to have been made into improvised fortresses? Yes there have been one or two things. One thing concerns me though, I thought this place was supposed to be covered in storms?"_

"Must have let up for the day. Either way, I'm not complaining. I've got my hands full with the flak. I don't need a lightning bolt zapping my tail."

_"Indeed."_

At that moment, a large flak burst exploded in front of the bomber, slightly to the left side. Smith came back on again, his voice frantic.

_"Captain! We've been hit! The number two engine is burning!"_ This sent Bertram into full damage control mode.

"Jacob! Hit the fire suppression switch, there! Hit it for the number two engine, I'll try to restart it!"

Jacob pulled a red-handled switch over his seat and Bertram saw smoke start coming from the number two (inner left) engine. He quickly pressed the starter switch and hoped it wasn't a fuel line hit. The engine sputtered and the propellor turned once, twice, three times before starting to spin.

Bertram breathed a sigh of relief, or at least he halfway did as the number two engine blew flames forward through the propellor and seized. The propellor broke free from the engine and was sent hurtling through the air like a Blue Isles 'throwing star'. He gazed after the falling engine piece with a somewhat horrified yet bemused expression then looked to see the engine continue smoking. He vaguely was aware of Jacob asking him what was wrong and he sighed.

"We lost something. Kill the number two engine."

"What happened?"

"It seized and we lost a propellor. We're down to three engines now." Jacob looked at Bertram for a moment then sat back in his seat.

"Crap."

"That's what I say to." Smith came on the intercom, he sounded rather pleased.

_"The enemy fortifications here are light. They are obviously expecting an air attack such as a bombing run but it doesn't look like their equipped or prepared for a full scale ground assault. I do believe we've found the enemy's weak spot. Furthermore, Captain, per your request, I seem to have located a spot that looks vaguely like what one would expect of a dragon den. The ruins of a destroyed castle are primarily blocking the way but it is there, and it does appear to be untouched. We have our answer. Instead of an overland assault, we shall island hop to Concurrent Skies, cross the strait there and then flank the bulk of the gnorc/Rotiart mixed forces. A tactic straight from your Father's playbook, I believe."_

"Good work, radio this discovery to command and I'll aim us to the next objective."

_"The next objective is a small town halfway between Warfang and the first recon point. According to her last sighting, Lady Flaire was engaged with two dread griffons and she fell into the firest after being struck by one in a mid-air collision. This is more of a search and rescue request than an actual military objective. Kind of like your goodwill mission, sir."_

"Okay escorts, this next point is close to Warfang, if you're low on fuel or bullets, now's the time to break off a few at a time to refuel and rearm."

_"303 here, we're down to about half our fuel capacity. We'll take the first leave if no one else objects."_

_ "This is Hammer, I seem to have a catch in my engine. I think I may have caught a piece of flak earlier and it's rattling around in there, I'll be right behind you."_

As Jake and the 303rd split off and returned to base, Bertram and his remaining escorts flew on to the next, and last checkpoint.

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(meanwhile)

Dieter relaxed in his chair as he had just finished sorting out the last of the paperwork. Just because he was Rotiart's Ace of Aces didn't mean an end to paperwork (much to his chagrin). Put him in a plane and he was ready for anything. Put him behind a desk with a mountain of paperwork and he was just as confused as a baby raccoon and about as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

He was just about to pour himself a drink when his second in command, Jyne, threw open the door with an incredulous expression on his face.

"Captain, an enemy recon bomber has been spotted over Concurrent Skies and is retreating. Intel believes that Bertram de Launces is piloting it." Dieter looked at his wingman and huffed.

"Well what the devil is he doing in a bomber? And just what are _we_ supposed to do about a recon bomber? Can't the gnorcs deal with it?"

"Their planes were shot down or chased off by the escort fighters. Cowards." Dieter sighed and nodded. He knew full well the indignation the squadron would feel at being ordered to perform a 'fly swat', shooting down a recon bomber that was generally weakly armored and lightly armed.

"Very well, rouse the squadron. We're going hunting."

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Bertram checked his map and nodded, keying the intercom.

"Smith, according to my map we should be near the village, you see anything yet?"

_"Nothing but forest. Remember sir, they're moles, they may just build __**down**__instead of up like we humans do. Wait a moment...slow us down I see something...looks like a...yes! It's a crash pattern! Looks dragon-sized to me. Sir, you think she's alive?"_

At that moment, a gout of fire exploded in the air. Bertram nodded.

"Flaire's a fire dragoness, right? I think we've found her unless there was anither fire dragon that got lost around here."

_"Nope, she's the only one. I'm radioing the location now."_

"Copy that. Jacob, open the bomb bay doors and drop the care package for her. It contains some food, health, and mana crystals for her as well as a note that help is on the way." Jacob saluted and unbuckled himself.

"Yes, sir."

As they passed over the sight of the fire blast, Jacob opened the bomb bay doors and dropped a large crate with parachutes to help it drop safely onto the forest floor. He then closed the door back and Bertram heard him over the radio.

_"Bomb bay doors closed, sir. Package has been delivered."_

"All right everyone, let's go home."

Bertram looked up into the sky gazing to see how long he'd been up when he saw a group approaching. He recognized the shape and cursed.

"Enemy planes incoming! Man your guns! Escorts, we've got fighters coming in fast and we need some help, what's your ETA?"

Somewhere in between flying from Concurrent Skies and arriving here, their escorts all started to run low on fuel and had no choice but to peel off and leave the bomber unprotected. Bertram pushed the bomber down and hoped he could make a run for it. As he leveled out at two-thousand feet, the radio came to life.

_"This is 242 Squadron, Bertram, we've just landed and have begun refueling, ETA five minutes!"_

"I'm afraid we don't even have one minute. These planes are Rotarian. I may be crazy, but it looks like Dieter Muntz and the 215 Squadron."

At that moment, a plane with a reaper emblem came in and strafed the nose of the plane. Bertram heard bullets rip through the metal plates and heard glass shatter below. He clicked the intercom, worried.

"Smith! Smith you alright?"

_"Y-Yeah, I'm good. Just finished transmitting the report so that we at least have completed our mission. I'm manning the nose gun-"_

Again the same plane flew by and peppered the nose. Bertram felt his heart sink as the intercom went quiet. He spoke again and again but it was no use. Smith was gone. The report of the tail gun snapped him out of it and he banked the plane hard right as the same plane, again, came in to strafe the cockpit.

Instead it's bullets struck the number four (outer right) engine and it began to splutter and whine as it tried to rev back up. Bertram turned on the radio and transmitted something he'd hoped he'd never have to transmit.

"Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is bomber 2275. Under heavy sustained enemy attack. I've lost my nose gunner and am down to two engines! Repeat: One casualty and two engines down! Any reinforcements, please hurry!"

Suddenly the plane lurched and he heard an ear-piercing shriek of metal grinding on metal as the sputtering engine finally stopped. More bullets pierced the armor and Bertram suddenly felt as if a red-hot poker had just stabbed him in the arm. Looking down, he saw a hole in his jacket and a dark red stain starting to spread. Bertram keyed the radio, this time gritting his teeth against the pain.

"This is bomber 2275, I've been hit! I repeat, I've been shot!"

Another plane strafed the fuselage and he heard a yell from the tail as well as something sounding like metal buckling and grinding. He pushed the throttle for the remaining two engines to full as the intercom came on.

_"Captain! An enemy plane just strafed the tail! The frame's been damaged and I've been hit! Help!"_

Bertram knew he couldn't do anything yet he found himself locking the controls and stepping out of the cockpit and starting towards the tail, every step making him arm hurt worse than before. He made it past the station where a top gunner would be stationed when he felt the plane lurch again and he gasped in horror as a large crack appeared in the tail section and heard several rivets pop out of their sockets and bounce around inside.

He watched the crack widen and move slowly, almost creeping, around the fuselage and he saw Jacob, he was bleeding from his chest and was pinned to his gun by a piece of the frame that had been broken by a cannon round. He stared at Bertram with a pleading look in his eyes. Bertram took one more step and that's when it happened.

More cannon rounds ripped through the bomber just in front of Bertram, shredding what little of the armor and frame was left. Bertram had just enough time to grab hold of a frame piece when he heard Jacob scream and then watched as the tail section seperated from the body of the plane and begin to fall away. At the same time another explosion sent shrapnel through the cockpit, destroying the controls as well as the throttles, causing another engine to stop.

Fighting the air current trying to rip him from the plane. He made it to the cockpit where the parachutes were and saw the altimeter starting to drop and felt the plane beginning to roll. He keyed the radio one last time.

"Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is bomber 2275, we are hit and are going down! I repeat we are going down! I've lost both my nose gunner and tail gunner and cannot maintain flight. Damage too severe. I am bailing out!"

Not waiting any longer, Bertram grabbed the parachute from behind his seat and ran for the opening in the fuselage where the tail had once been attached. A large explosion from one of the engines forced his hand as the bomber began to spin. He leapt, looking back just in time to see the right wing rip free from the fuselage, and pulled the string.

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Joshua sat visiting with his sister and her family. He sadly gazed at Spyro who still stood by Cynder as they waited for the report of the lair's location. As Ignitus was about to say somethingthere was a knock at the door. Joshua moved to get it and when he opened the door, Thera could see him step back revealing two officers who came in.

Spyro looked at these new arrivals with hope yet something about them spoke to something ominous. Spyro rose from his position, joints creaking, as he neared them.

The lead officer took a deep breath and nodded.

"Lady Magothera, Commander. I'm afraid I must inform you that while on the recon mission, your brother, Bertram, was shot down behind enemy lines. Radio reports indicate that he has bailed out but we cannot assertain his health or even if he survived the jump as the plane was at five-hundred feet when it came apart. Until we find him, he has been declared as MIA, Missing In Action."

Thera looked as if she was about to faint until Ignitus stood by her, a worried look on his face. As the first officer turned away, the second one spoke.

"Ma'am. That's not the entirety of the situation. An earlier report states that they found a possible location for this Lair of Tomar. It is in Concurrent Skies, behind enemy lines, in the ruins of a fortress that was destroyed some time ago. Rest assured we are sending in search teams and pilots to fly the area. Your brother won't stay missing for long. We'll find him. All we ask for is time."

The two officers left the house. As soon as the door shut, Thera broke down and began to weep. Ignitus rushed to comfort her and Spyro stood there dumbfounded. He had just learned the location of the Lair of Tomar, yet he also learned that his daughter-in-law's baby brother was now missing somewhere in lands that, to the unwary, were dangerous and made even more so by the presense of hostile forces. He looked to Cynder and though he couldn't see a sign, he knew she was weeping as well. He watched as Ignitus placed a wing over Thera and cradled her neck in his.

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Ayatane looked at the bulletin board that showed the planes for the recon mission. Looking at Bertram's name, he saw the same mark by his friend's name.

Bertram de Launces: Captain, 242 Sqdn. Modified B4-L, Recon duty. F.T.R.

Failed To Return.

He silently cursed himself, his plane still had half a tank of fuel and could have stayed with him a little while longer yet he wanted to err on the side of caution and turned with the rest of the group to refuel. He had been on the runway preparing to sortie when Bertram's last transmission came over the radio. The commander had then quickly came over the radio and base intercom and gave an order no one wanted to obey:

_All planes, stand down. Do not sortie._

One of the pilots from the 303rd as well as Kani had indeed taken off against orders and were at present, spending a night in the brig for disobeying orders. Not that he could blame them, nor could the commander which was the reason for one night instead of a week.

He heard something behind him and turned to come face to face with Sahne who looked just as worried as he did. In a rare show of emotion, Ayatane allowed himself to worry over his friend and comrade. He felt Sahne wrap her arms around him and somehow he seemed to calm. He gazed into her eyes, she gazed into his.

Whether they intended to or not, the two of them leaned inward towards each other.

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Wow, all right! All right! All right! I am on a **roll**! I just noticed this but I've been cranking out a chapter per week. Can I keep it up? I'm betting myself that I can.

So, Bertram is MIA, the Lair has possibly been located, and the battle is beginning to escalate. A hunt for an MIA pilot in the midst of a battle...Does that ring any bells for anyone?

Next Time: Missing In Action.


	15. Missing In Action

Hey everyone, I'm back again. Don't worry, I'm not going to throw a corny joke out or anything. Besides I had corn yesterday for lunch. (A bushel of corn falls)

I really need to learn to keep my mouth shut.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 14: Missing In Action

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Bertram groaned and peered into the stream to make sure everythng was still in one piece. He checked his forefeet, hindlegs, tail, his defective wings, everything seemed okay. With the exception of a few cuts and scuffs to his scales he got when he had to crash and the wound in his right foreleg where he'd been shot in human form. He looked up into the open sky and then turned to the wreckage of the bomber that had landed not far from him when he bailed.

He could have cursed himself for breaking a cardinal rule of parachutes: Never let anyone other than you pack your chute.

The moment he had pulled the string, the chute deployed but the lines were tangled and didn't slow his fall. Then the reserve slipped out and threatened to wrap itself around him, forcing him to shift forms in midair and pray that his wings would finally open.

They didn't.

Bertram had done the equivalent of a dragon-sized cannonball through the forest and splashed thankfully into a deep part of the lake in the center of the forest. No sooner had he surfaced and swam to shore than the hulk of the bomber came down, forcing him to dive back into the lake to avoid the explosion.

The aircraft was, to state the obvious, a total wreck. The tail section, including the rudder, the tail gun and poor Jacob, had been shot away by the enemy and had come down somewhere else, the right wing had finally broken free during the spin and the left wing was folded in half over itself. Through the charred remains of the nose, Bertram could see the body of Lieutenant Smith, burned beyond all recognition and riddled with holes, slumped over his gun.

After testing his joints and making sure nothing was broken or out of place, Bertram shifted back into human form to avoid detection by the planes that still flew overhead. He looked at his belt and sighed in annoyance. He only had his sidearm and three magazines as well as his knife for protection.

As he started for the forest, a whine entered his ears. Looking up, he saw a plane diving towards him, guns blazing. Bertram dove for a large outcropping of rocks and took cover behind them and aimed his pistol at the plane before stopping as the plane flew over and turned away.

"Yeah, a 9mm against an armored plane...might as well try spitting and cursing while I'm at it."

Thanks to his memory of the ground, he had a pretty good idea where he was and an even better idea of where he should head, remembering the spot where a gout of fire had erupted from while searching for the dragoness, Flaire.

Common knowledge was that if you survived a crash, try to remain where you were so that your allies could find you. Since nobody knew where he crashed except for the enemy, that idea was out. Hopefully, this Flaire would investigate the crash site and hopefully they could join together and get out of here together.

That is _if_ she decided to investigate the crash site.

Still though, the choice was taken out of Bertram's hands entirely when he heard a rustling in the bushes. Weapon drawn, he turned and saw a gnorc coming out of the woods, weapon ready.

"Hands up human. You are my prisoner." Bertram had a bead on the gnorc and grinned.

"Yeah, but the fact remains I also have you in _my _sights. Why don't you lower _your_ weapon instead?" The gnorc chuckled but kept his stance.

"Heh, you're lucky our orders are to take you _alive_ Bertram de Launces, otherwise you'd be dead for that remark." Bertram was thunderstruck. The gnorcs _knew_ about him and possibly about his mission which meant that most likely Gnasty was looking for the lair of Tomar as well. He gritted his teeth and then eyed the gnorc.

"So you've been ordered to take me alive? That works in my favor."

Before the gnorc could puzzle out what he meant, Bertram dived to the right and fired a wild round from his sidearm that went into the gnorc's leg, causing him to drop the rifle and howl in pain. Recovering quickly, Bertram took off in full sprint and ran into the forest, leaving a very angry gnorc behind. After running for a moment, he realized he'd gotten turned around in the ancient forest. Not able to see the sun through the thick tree canopy, Bertram decided to slow down for a moment. Just as well because his arm began to throbb with pain.

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Dieter couldn't hide his annoyance as his plane came to a halt on the runway. All the way back, Marks had crowed about how he had shot down Bertram de Launces and how he would be even more famous now. He even went as far as to suggest that Dieter should recommend him for the Onyx Star, one of Rotiart's highest military awards.

Dieter himself had been awarded the Onyx Star twice before and on top of that was a recipient of the Legionaire's Medal of Valor and felt disgusted in his wingman's behavior. He had half a mind to crack the insolent fool over the head with the hammer pilots used should their canopies refuse to open and put an end to his blathering. Thankfully, Jyne intervened and eyed Marks with a stern expression.

"You should choose your words carefully Sergeant. Every man among us in this squadron is a recipient of that honor, and we didn't have to harass a defenceless recon plane to do it. Even if it was piloted by de Launces. Then again, to be quite honest, bomber kills don't really amount to as much as fighter kills. It takes more skill and experience to down a fighter plane than a bomber. Perhaps you will recieve a letter of congradulations but that's it."

Marks looked as if he wanted to say something but was stopped short by Dieter as he came up.

"Furthermore, your tactics up there were dishonorable and not to mention downright disgraceful. You deliberately pursued a crippled plane long after it was obvious it was going down. The way you wage war and act in battle not only reflects upon the squadron, it reflects upon _me_. Therefore I am striking that so-called 'kill' from your record."

Marks moved his mouth like a fish gasping for air but Dieter payed no mind and turned back to him, his eyes cold and hard as stone.

"You have two black marks against you Sergeant. One more and I will have your wings. Do I make myself clear?" Marks clammed up and saluted stiffly.

"Yes. Sir." Dieter nodded and then turned to Jyne.

"Now that night's falling, he'll have to seek shelter. I saw his parachute tangle and he shifted to avoid any great harm. Likely he is wounded and thus will be easier to capture. Personally, I'd prefer to face him in the skies, one on one but if I can capture him, I can remove both a rival and an enemy ace and hopefully save his life in the process. The boy is good but he is too soft. That weakness is going to get him killed unless I intervene."

Jyne chuckled as the squadron, minus Marks, walked to the hangar. Another of Dieter's squadron, Manfried Voss, joined them, a smile a constant feature to his face.

"Captain, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're entertaining ideas that Bertram could be a worthy opponent." Dieter chuckled as he walked on.

"I cannot keep my emotions secret from any of you curious lot, can I? It is ture that my only love in this world is flying the skies of the world and testing myself against the best that the enemy has to offer. As an ace, no as a pilot, I must continually improve otherwise my skills will rust and grow stagnant. The one thing I long for in the world, more than all the riches, fame, and glory in all the world, is for an opponent who can push me to my absolute limits the way my mentor pushed me. I desire nothing more than a good honest fight."

Dieter paused for a moment and looked at the darkening sky, noticing the stars and smiling broadly, all previous anger and wrath gone.

"If I have a choice, I'd prefer to die up there in the clouds. Twenty-thousand feet up, edge of my seat, guns blazing, at four-hundred miles per hour. I want to just feel the satisfaction of knowing that I have done my best and that I have no regrets. Heh, I know what you're thinking and the answer is yes. I had a wife, three kids, and owned a ranch in southern Rotiart. I raised horses and cows and loved every minute of it. When the Callinar Incursion occured, I joined a mercenary unit that was meant to 'experiment' with new Rotiart plane designs. When the war ended, my wife wanted nothing to do with me and to make things easier for the kids I signed over the ranch and everything to her. I left everything behind so that I could fly. I still see the kids every once in a while. Each of them are going into professions that they love and want to do. As long as they're happy, I have no regrets."

At that moment, a small dog-sized creature came running from the squadron's barracks and leapt into the air, using its small wings to glide towards Voss who caught the little creature and laughed as it buried its head into his scarf and jacket.

The creature was a baby griffon, not one of those dread griffons that skulked about here and there and didn't speak except to order their subordinates, threaten someone, or demand something but a true, pureblooded, golden griffon, the very same type of griffon that had once been on Rotiart's flag. The griffon looked up at Voss with a child-like innocence and muttered something Dieter couldn't hear. Yet he was curious.

"So Voss, what does our little mascot have to say this time?"

"He says that if you were to die he'd be sad. You're always saying that the squadron is like a family. While there's no denying Werner sees me as a surogate Father, he sees you as a kindly grandfather and the rest of the squadron as big brothers. He thinks about everyone that way except for Marks who he sees as a...well griffon words translate differently than human but...he sees Marks as a 'loud-mouth, seed for brains, cuckoo bird'. T-That's only a rough translation, mind you." Upon hearing this, another wingman, Eric Wolff, let out his obviously pent-up laughter at this.

"Never you worry Voss, you and Werner can count on my silence. Still though, how the devil did you learn griffonspeak? I know the little bugger understands human language but how can you understand _him_?" Voss petted Werner's head as they walked on and sighed.

"I grew up just outside a griffon colony near Tenret. In my youth I sat with the griffons, observing them with my father and listening to them speak to each other. One day something just clicked and I began to speak griffon as if I'd been born to it. Just, don't tell anyone else. They may decide to transfer me to translator duty and I would like to keep my fingers, toes, and other limbs whole if you please. Dread griffons love giving orders but do not like to be on the recieving end."

"Again, you have my secrecy. Besides, if you left, I'd be defenceless up there without my wingman to watch my back. I don't trust Marks as far as I could throw him."

"On that we're agreed." Dieter nodded and then turned back to his squadron.

"Tomorrow, the ground teams will begin searching for the wreckage of the bomber. They have orders to capture Bertram de Launces alive but they will not hesitate to wound him further to hinder any escape attempts. Therefore, we shall be going out as well and we must ensure that we find him first. Are we agreed?"

The entire squadron nodded their approval. Unbeknownst to them however, a shadow lurked in the darkness between the tents, seething with anger at the remarks made.

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A sound akin to a Syllian screech owl startled Bertram as he made his way through the forest, trying to find even the slightest sign he was going in the right direction. His survival kit had proved useless as the compass had broken when the useless parachute had been ripped away by his dragon form. He remembered something about finding moss on a side of a boulder or a tree but there was a problem, the vegitation here in Avalon was far more...lethal...than in Syllia.

He kept his weapon ready and allowed his hearing to do more than his sight. He was certain something was following him but for the sake of survival, he refused to stay in one place and kept moving. Bertram kept walking until he saw something in the distance. It was too dark to make out but still, if there was a chance at shelter, he'd take it. Besides, even if his sidearm wasn't effective, he was still a decent sized dragon. Perhaps anything thinking a human weak and easy prey might be frightened enough by the trasformation and flee. As he neared the object, he slowed as he realized what it was.

What he had discovered was the mangled tail section of the bomber. Peering inside, he saw a lot of blood but no sign of Jacob's body. Evidently he had already been carried off by some forest predator. Thankfully the machinegun was still in good condition and Bertram didn't have any problems unbolting the heavy gun from the turret and swinging it inside to guard the open tail. The glass observation dome was open to the elements but the majority of the frame work was still intact.

He was glad to find a survival pack here in the tail, probably Jacob's, but still, it held a small bedroll, some C-rations, and a canteen of water. It was more than what he had so he availed himself to the pack and started a small fire in the ruined tail. After eating something and drinking some water, he lay down on the cot and eased into a light sleep, wary of anything trying to enter the tail.

Bertram had only been dozing for about half an hour when something brushed against the metal tail of the plane. The sound was slight but enough to wake him. He rose, clicked the safety off the gun and angled it down at the opening, waiting for anything to cross the sights. The sound, a slight rasping sound accompanied by a few taps and clicks seemed odd but then again there were still creatures that not even the people of Avalon had seen yet.

Bertram refrained from saying anything, wary that it may be a beast of the forest or it may be an enemy soldier trying to see if anybody was home. In the light from the fire, he saw ashadow start moving towards the opening and tightened his grip on the gun. He muttered a pilot's prayer, a rare occurance for him, and prepared to sell his life dearly.

"H-Hello? I-Is there anybody there? Please, answer me."

Bertram looked up in confusion. The maker of that shadow had spoken and the voice was _definately_ female. He thought for a moment then realization hit him. Still, he remained at the gun and cautiously answered.

"I'm here. Lady Flaire? Is that you?" The voice came back, this time relieved.

"Yes, thank the Ancestors. Are you alright? I smell blood."

"I'm alright, none of it's mine. I was doing a recon of the area when my plane came under fire. The blood belongs to my tailgunner who was killed when the tail was shot off the bomber. I don't know where his body is but I assume some creature got it. I've been wandering around here trying to find a source of light so that I can find my way back to Warfang."

Flaire's voice chuckled as the shadow loomed larger outside.

"Good luck with that. This place is called the Twilight Forest. Even in broad daylight, the forest floor is shrouded in darkness. You won't find an easy way our of here unless you can fly." Bertram sighed at that remark and then thought of something odd.

"Tell me something Lady Flaire, if you're alright, which you sound to be, why don't you fly out of here to find which way to go? Your wings aren't broken are they?" There was silence for a moment as Bertram heard breathing but then he heard a few strange noises like hiccups. The voice replied a few seconds later sounding oddly choked up.

"I-I wish they were. At least _that_ can be healed but no...when I was attacked...one of those Dread Griffons raked my face with its claws. I...I've been blinded and cannot see, I've been bumbling around these woods for three days now trying to find a way out. I launched a fire blast into the air to try and clear some debris but all I did was start a forest fire that nearly killed me." Something in that made Bertram choke back a laugh.

"How can a fire kill a fire dragoness?"

"The same way it can kill a human. Just because we can breathe fire doesn't mean we are immune to it. We can control fire we breathe normally or use in a fury attack but when it comes to wild fire we can burn as easily as any other race. The Belt of Fire taught us that when the Guardian Ignitus sacrificed himself." Bertram remembered that name and then linked it to what his Father had told him years ago.

"You mean the Chronicler?" There was a sharp intake of breath as the voice stilled for a few moments before answering.

"How do you know that? Who are you? I _demand_ to know!"

"I am Captain Bertram de Launces. I was ordered to find you as well as try to find the lost lair of Tomar the Wise. I found the location of the lair and now I've found you."

"Bertram de Launces? The brother of Magothera? Mate of Ignitus?"

"Y-Yeah..."

The silence was deafening for a moment as Bertram could hear every little thing going on around him. Crickets chirped, owls screeched, bats flew through the air, Flaire pawed the ground in a nervous fashion and her breathing deepened. Bertram sighed and rummaged through the pack and found an few unopened cans of meat. Being blinded, he guessed that she hadn't eaten lately. A thought that was confirmed when he heard a loud rumbling outside and a gasp of surprise.

"Hungry? I still have some food here if you want."

"N-No! I refuse to be handed food like some beggar! I refuse to be hand-fed like a hatchling! I-" She was cut off by her stomach again as Bertram eased out of the tail, food in hand. When he saw her, he shuddered in horror.

Flaire had four gashes running across her face and was caked with dried blood. Her eyes were shut and he had a feeling that he didn't want to see what condition her eyes were in. He closed with her and gingerly placed a hand on her nose. She recoiled in an instant and huffed, smoke curling from her nostrils.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Bertram eased open the medical kit and laid its contents out and then looked to her.

"We don't have healing crystals here. I'm going to try and wipe some of this blood off of you so that you don't attract any wild beasts. Dragon you may be but if you cannot see your attacker, you need to avoid them. Plus, I need to disinfect the wounds so they don't fester and become infected."

Flaire huffed but relented to Bertram touching her snout and then working on her face to remove the blood. Twice she winced as he rubbed a sore spot or brushed the alcohol sodden gauze over a painful wound. He stopped when he neared her eyes and looked her over. Even in this small firelight he could see moisture glistening from under her shut eyelids. She was in pain, she was binded, she was _crying_. Bertram set the gauze down and then picked up the food.

"Open you mouth."

Flaire inhaled once and smelled the food, making her stomach growl again and her mouth water and she opened her mouth slightly. Bertram placed the food in her mouth and then tapped her snout. She closed her mouth, chewed for a second, then swallowed. It wasn't much, but hopefully it was enough to take the edge off her hunger. Bertram sat down by her and looked up at the canopy, vainly wishing to see anything that might point the way back, a star, the moon, something, _anything_.

He sighed and looked to Flaire who had settled down beside him and then, surprisingly, placed her head in his lap.

"Tomorrow, we'll go hunting. There has to be _something_ in this forest worth eating. I'll help you in any way that I can and once we leave, we can get you home." Flaire shuddered as she raised her head. Bertram had a feeling that, if she could see, she'd be looking at him with a worried expression.

"No...I...I cannot go home. Mother...and Father...they would never be able to forgive me for getting hurt." Bertram looked at her curiously.

"Lady Ember and Lord Flame? I cannot believe that. They _love_ you. They'd never abandon you because of an injury."

"That's just it. I wasn't supposed to go on this mission but a friend of mine who was assigned to it just learned she was pregnant and was taken off the roster. I volunteered in her place so that the wing wouldn't be short one. Against the apes, against the gnorcs we learned that one dragon in a flight can make all the difference. I heard tales about the Dark War that too often entire wings fell because one or two of their members didn't engage or were unable to fight. We were nearly driven to extinction during the war and many females and males bred to try and give our race a chance at life."

She paused for a moment, allowing Bertram to remember all the tales he'd heard from Spyro and Cynder and the Guardians as Avalon shared its history and culture with Syllia and the world. As a pilot, he'd been told of the battles of the Avalon Dark War and every story of horror and trajedy filled his with more and more shock at the cruelty of the apes and his own ancestor.

"After the temple fell and the eggs were destroyed we all but gave up hope and scattered into far flung groups, tribes, and settlements and tried to reproduce there. For a dragoness, being gravid or able to bear children is one of the greatest pleasures there is. I...I was to be engaged to a dragon my age in a few weeks but no male in his right mind would accept a mate who is blind and willingly throws herself into battle like me. Even if it is to help my comrades. A noble fight is only noble if you make it back unharmed."

Bertram felt her ease her head back into his lap as she crooned sadly. He couldn't explain his actions but he moved his hand over her head and lightly pet her and ran his hand along her neck and began to hum a song...a song his mother had sung to him when he was a hatchling. After a while, he sighed and looked at her.

"You're not alone in that you know? I'm a dragon, I have the de Launces name and yet, because of something wrong with me, I cannot fly. My wings are fused shut and cannot move. You say no dragon could love you for being blind? For being reckless? What dragoness, what female of _any _race could love me for this." He gazed at her but he saw no indication she was awake. Still, he'd said it, he might as well continue.

"To female dragons, or rather, the ones that know my secret, I'm a flightless lizard, utterly useless. To human females, I'm a freak. When they think of shapeshifters, they think of my older brothers or my Father, a hero turning into a dragon to save them like some damsel in distress and wisking them away to a castle in the mountain to engage in unbridled passion. The fastest I can move in dragon form is a ground gallop and that makes me slightly better than those old cavalry horses. The only way _I_ can fly is in a plane and even then it's not the same. I'll _never_ know that type of freedom, that type of _passion_. I heard of stories about the 'mating flight' where dragons bonded and mated while plummeting through the sky. I can never know that. At least you can still fly but what about me?"

Bertram leaned back and looked back into the canopy. He felt something on his face and reached a hand up to his eyes and realized he was crying. Cursing himself for venting his emotions at a time like this, he closed his eyes and dozed. Had he looked back at Flaire, he would have noticed that she, too, was crying.

She had heard everything he said.

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The next morning saw the darkness of the forest give way to a dull grey light as the sun rose. Bertram awoke and found himself snugly against Flaire's belly as she lay coiled around him. He slowly sat up and felt his shoulder flare up causing him to wince. Then he felt Flaire move and saw her rise up, eyes closed but she breathed the air deeply.

"This place was so peaceful back before the war. I often came here to relax and let my thoughts wander. Of course, now that war has come this place has become hostile and unforgiving."

She rose and stretched, joints popped, muscles creaked, and every part of her body rippled in the dull light like every scale on her was alive and had a mind of its own.

"Well, as to what you said last night, I do believe we should work together to snag some prey. I don't know what sort of weapon you have in human form but I have no intention to pick little pieces of metal out of my meal and I know nothing about your hunting skills. So, you will be my eyes and I shall catch the food. Agreed?"

Bertram hadn't said anything before Flaire rose and started walking off into the dull grey. He raised a hand to say something but was too late as a rather loud _thunk_ reverberated followed shortly by a rather loud string of draconic curses. Bertram rose, shifted, and then followed the foul-mouthed dragoness into the forest.

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At Warfang, a modified gunship was just starting its engines and preparing to take off. Behind it were numerous fighters also revving up. Among these fighters was Ayatane and nearby was Sahne who shared a glance with him before watching the gunship coast down the runway and take off.

Sparing a glance to the left, he saw Bertram's sister and brother standing nearby with expressions of hope. As he awaited the signal to launch, he recalled the briefing from yesterday.

'_The goal of this operation is to rescue one of our own. The gunship will be dropping flares into the forest along the path of the crash site of the scout. With luck, both Captain de Launces and Lady Flaire had met and can follow the flares to the clear zone on the south side of the woods. Your job, as fighters, is to protect the gunship. It goes down, the mission fails.'_

_ 'We will be launching a bombing raid over gnorc territory at the same time to cover our rescue efforts and draw the attention of the enemy garrison. The area is known as the Twilight Forest and is pitch black down there so the flares should light up a good distance. Once they are out, Lady Flaire will fly to safety in Warfang and Bertram will be accompanying her. Your role will then change to protecting them. This is our only chance to save them.'_

_ 'Do not fail.'_

Ayatane heard the beep in his headset that was his key to take off and he pushed the throttle of the newly arrived P-31 he had been assigned to full power and rocketed down the runway, took off, and assumed a CAP around the airbase until the other fighters were up. He looked west toward the Twilight Forest and sighed.

"Hang in there Bertram. Help is on the way."

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Alright everyone, so Bertram and Flaire have found one another, Dieter and his squadron will be searching for them, and now the reinforcements are taking off with a screwball rescue plan. Sounds like this next one's going to be close.

Please review and I'll see y'all next time.

Next time: A Wing and a Prayer.


	16. A Wing and A Prayer

Hey, everyone. I finally got over my writer's block and got to work on a new chapter. As always, I do hope y'all enjoy.

Now then, if y'all don't mind, I've got to get these blasted dogs of my nephews out of the workshop...

Great, Izzy just laid down on my feet and went to sleep.

What can I say? I'm a dog person.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 15: A Wing and a Prayer

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Bertram and Flaire stalked through the grey forest as they followed the scent of something that smelled like deer. In dragon form, Bertram's eyes were much sharper than normal and compared to Flaire who had been blinded during an attack by Dread Griffons, he was much better off. However, she was quickly adjusting to her sense of smell and hearing to compensate for her lost sight.

As they got closer to the scent, Flaire suddenly crouched down and lunged.

And crashed into a tree that Bertram saw the animal, a deer, was hiding behind and took off when Flaire thundered into it. Quickly recovering, Flaire shot a blast of blue fire at the deer, which hit it and also set a few shrubs on fire and catching another deer in the blast as well. Bertram went towards the two deer and dragged them to Flaire who was rubbing her head with an annoyed expression.

"Who puts a tree in the middle of a forest like that?" Bertram laughed and lay the deer out before her and smelled the scent of already cooked deer.

"I don't know about the woods but that fireball was right on the mark. Better still, its already cooked."

"Hmph. Squeamish about raw deer, de Launces?" Bertram chuckled and used a foreclaw to cut a leg from the carcass and begin eating.

"Guilty as charged. Growing up I only had to eat raw meat once before during a night I snuck out of the castle without anyone knowing. It was the day I learned that I may nev... Well, let's just say I learned something that brought me to tears and I slipped out one night to try and see if it was true or not and wound up spending the night in the woods just outside of Launces. That night a farmer's cow had gotten out and I was so hungry I attacked and devoured a good portion of it."

He paused for a moment to cut another hind leg off the same deer and watched Flaire rip into the other, larger, deer he had laid before her and smiled.

"The next day Father found me, paid the irate farmer for the cow, and took me home and grounded me for a week. For some reason, eating raw meat reminds me of that day."

She was listening to him, even if she didn't outwardly show it. Flaire wished she could see what he looked like in dragon form. She was able to compare the differences between his voice in human form and dragon form and noted them. Silently, she wondered what it would be like, not being able to fly. She knew the answer the moment she mentally asked herself that.

She would utterly _hate_ it.

When she was young she had spent as much time in the air as she had on the ground. Perfecting aerial maneuvers, coming up with incredible aerial acrobatics that most dragons couldn't even try to perform. Though she had Flame's endurance, she had Ember's agility. She was not considerably lithe of form but she could outclimb, outturn, out_fly_ any dragon or dragoness in the sky.

She finally ate her fill and picked up where Bertram was resting only a short way away from her. She went over to him and surprised him by laying out next to him and sighing contentedly.

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Dieter tapped his foot with impatience as his group readied themselves to search for Bertram de Launces. He had only gotten permission for himself, Marks, and Wolff to search on the ground while Jyne, Voss, and the rest had to stay behind and go up with the morning patrol.

A few minutes later, the three men were in a small vehicle speeding down the road towards the forest but were stopped by the occasional gnorc patrol or Rotiart armor column. Dieter couldn't help but grind his teeth at this as the tanks rolled by.

_(This is supposed to be the__** gnorc's**__ war. Not ours. They prove themselves time and again to be poor allies. I wonder what Mechanos is thinking as he reads these reports of failure after failure coming in.)_

He suppressed those thoughts with a shake of his head and looked forward towards the looming expanse of the forests. Then his mind went to something odd.

_(What was he doing flying a recon bomber over areas that Rotiart has no interest in tactically? Are they important to the gnorcs? Or is it something else...)_

As the vehicle started off again from a gnorc checkpoint, he couldn't help but feel that something was about to happen.

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Hartwig and his crew flew center formation as the bombers lumbered through the sky. They had taken off ahead of the transport and the 242 and were escorted by several squadrons as they neared their distraction target which was more of a vital target than a distraction.

They were flying towards the enemy airbase the gnorcs had hastily constructed on the outskirts of cheetah territory. Even though the gnorcs had openly betrayed the council, they still hadn't directly attacked the atlawa, cheetahs, or wolves and as such they remained out of the fight but kept a wary gaze at them.

Looking right and left Hartwig saw the incredible formation of bombers arrayed alongside them and still couldn't shake the disbelief that all these aircraft and their crews had answered the call to divert the enemy's attention so that one lone squadron could rescue one of their downed brothers. At least, if one was a romantic and fervently believed the whole 'no man left behind' speeches that the higher ups were fond of giving.

Truth be told, after the first and so far last disasterous attack on Rotiart, men and women across the Bomber Corps of the RAF wanted revenge. The Rotarians had bloodied their noses early in the war and most of the crews flying today were itching for some payback. The fighters began to climb and get above the formation for extra defence from attacks when Hartwig spotted some black spots in the distance. He motioned to his co-pilot who nodded and pushed the engines of the new HB32B1 as Hartwig turned on the radio and keyed the mike.

"This is Postmaster to all Postmen, we've got incoming and they don't want us delivering our packages. All escorts, please put these mad dogs down. Turrets: man your guns."

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Whether by luck or maybe an internal map telling the way, Bertram led Flaire to the lake where the bomber had crashed and was busy slaking their thirst as the hike through a dull, featureless jungle had been exhausting to both dragons. Flaire had drank first and was now resting by the lakebed when she lifted her head and gazed at the sky, an expression of longing on her face.

"Bertram...what does the sky look like today?" Bertram stopped mid-gulp and gazed upward and sighed as he saw a clear blue sky unmarred by clouds.

"Clear skies, perfect weather for flying." Flaire nodded and started to rest her head back when she suddenly frowned and looked back up.

"Bertram. Something's above us."

"Get to safety in the trees. I'll take cover by the bomber."

Flaire eased back into the woodline and Bertram huddled close to the burnt out bomber and gazed into the sky that, moments before had been clear, he now saw the vague outline and contrails of aircraft flying overhead. Flaire's voice came out of the woods as she tried to hear the planes better.

"Ours or their's?" Bertram focused his eyes and could see the emblem on the fuselage and whooped loudly at what he saw.

The Syllian Fighter Corps used an ornate emblem, a gold circle and cross with a blue core and red and white markings. The Bomber Corps used a less ornate emblem, simply painting a blue outer circle, a white middle circle and a red dot in the center to distinguish themselves.

Both fighters and bombers had these Syllian emblems on their bodies and they were flying in force in the direction of the enemy lines.

"They're ours Flaire! They're ours! Bombers and fighter escorts!"

At that moment, Flaire heard something crack and quickly ran for Bertram.

"Get down!"

She tackled him broadside and they both fell into the lake just as a bullet struck a tree near where Bertram's head would have been seconds earlier. As they surfaced, they heard some loud shouting from the woodline and tuned their hearing to listen in.

_"Damn you Marks! I ordered you to try and take him alive! Bertram de Launces is no good to us dead. In fact, if he is killed you will invite nothing but destruction upon us!"_

_ "Captain, your orders are all well and good, but speaking as the 'loud mouth, seed for brains, cookoo bird' of the squadron, I have higher orders from Lord Mechanos himself. No quarter is to be given to the enemies of Rotiart."_

There was a sound of scuffling and a few choice words before another shot echoed through the air.

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Dieter watched with fury in his eyes as Wolff was hit with a round from Marks' sidearm and went down, bleeding from his leg.

"Sergeant Marks! You go too far this time! You soldiers, arrest this man!" Marks laughed as he shook his head.

"They won't listen to you Captain, and by the way, it's _Lieutenant_ Marks now. My orders are from Lord Mechanos and these men here will not _dare_ to cross the man who dragged our nation back to prosperity after so many years in silence and humiliation. Lord Mechanos dreams of recreating the mighty Rotarian Empire, a nation that matches, no, _surpasses_ even the Praetorian Empire!" He looked to where the dragons had dived in and sighed, feining regret for his actions.

"I hope, Captain, that when I return from hunting those two dragons, that you have reaffirmed your loyalty to Rotiart...and to Lord Mechanos.

Leaving one man to bandage Wolff's leg, Marks and the soldiers started off without Dieter and approached the lake. After gazing into the water for a moment waiting for them to surface, he felt a tap on his shoulder and saw a soldier pointing at the far shore where two dragons were climbing out of the lake, well out of range.

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Bertram thanked his lucky stars that he was such a good swimmer as both he and Flaire dived when the sensed an enemy approaching and quietly swam to the opposite shore. They heard the enemy soldier howl with anger when they surfaced and crawled out of the lake, well out of range of his sidearm and bolted into the forest.

Once they were far enough into the forest, Bertram stopped and looked back at where the lake was and sighed. Flaire heard him and approached him slowly.

"What is wrong? We got away didn't we?" Bertram nodded but still...

"I have to go back. One of those men back there... I have a feeling that was Dieter Muntz, the man who considers himself my rival in the skies. I cannot let him die on the ground like this to a mutinous subordinate."

"But he is your enemy! Why?" Bertram shrugged and then began to ease back to the lake.

"I don't know why but...I just have some sort of feeling. Flaire, stay here and keep out of sight. I'll be back."

Before Flaire could say anything, she heard Bertram slip into the lake and was gone. She took cover in a group of bushes, covered her bright scales with mud and lay there.

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Bertram surfaced and slipped quietly into the woodline near where Dieter, Wolff, and the solder were. Wolff was proped up beside a tree with a field dressing wrapped around his leg beside Dieter and the soldier sat across from the both of them. Bertram eased around to behind the soldier, letting the grey light disguise him as he crept towards them. For a moment, he saw a glimmer in Dieter's eyes but the ace remained silent.

The soldier noticed this look and turned around to come face to face with Bertram, still in dragon form, and fell backwards with a fright and tried to raise his weapon.

Thinking quickly, Bertram swung his claws forward and cut several deep furrows through the soldier's body, including his neck and let the corpse fall where it twitched for a few moments before settling. He then shifted and walked towards a very stunned looking Dieter and Wolff.

"Are both of you alright?" Wolff looked at him as if he were crazy but kept silent. Dieter nodded.

"Indeed...well, except for Wolff here, still. Captain Bertram de Launces, I presume?" Bertram chuckled and nodded.

"You presume correctly. I guess that means you _are_ Captain Dieter Muntz?"

"You guess right. So...what brings you to _our_ aid?"

"I assumed that you didn't wish to be left here in the woods." Dieter nodded and then looked about.

"Yes...not exactly a type of place _I'd_ like to die...Sorry. I forgot you lost two comrades here only yesterday. What were their names?"

Bertram rose and then reshifted and motioned for them to follow him. Wolff leaned on his left flank and Dieter helped him. He then looked back at Dieter who was still waiting for and answer and relented.

"Lieutenants John Smith and Jason Fuller. Smith was killed in the nose gun and Fuller died when the tail section broke away." Dieter muttered a curse as he looked towards the lake.

"If it means anything, I _had_ ordered Marks to stop firing on your plane once I saw you were going down but the damned fool wanted glory. As usual, he disobeyed my orders and all but chased you into the ground. I almost had to put a few rounds into _him_ when he was about to strafe you as you fell but then you shifted and cratered into the lake. Still though, I at least pray your comrades died quickly."

"Smith did. The plane exploded on crashing and flames destroyed it and burned his body but as for Fuller, he was alive when the tail broke away but when I found it yesterday, something had already gotten into the tail and dragged his body away. Judging from the blood I have to assume he survived the fall but was killed by some sort of predator. I have no idea where his body was dragged off to."

Even in the grey light Bertran saw Dieter and Wolff both pale as he spoke. He then heard something odd and saw Wolff clutching something in his hand and praying as he spoke. After a moment, he relaxed and looked up and smiled and placed a small medallion back into his coat and held a finger to his lips. Dieter chuckled and explained.

"In the Rotiart military, under Mechanos, religious icons are forbidden. Wolff comes from a religious family and has always had that medallion on him. We pilots need a lot of luck to survive our fights. Some turn to divine, some believe they make their own luck, others believe in things such as a certain coat, hat, scarf, underwear." Wolff chuckled as he remembered something, then sighed.

"Heh. Like Stern. Poor lad. He was one of us for a short while and believed furvently in a 'lucky cap' of his. Marks, the bastard, tried to break him of superstitions and burned the hat. Next day he goes on patrol and his engine seized. He landed alright but was captured by Syllian forces."

"What about you Dieter? What do you believe in?" Dieter thought for a moment then sighed.

"I really don't know. Despite Wolff's numerous attempts I never was very religious. I suppose I'm someone who makes his own luck. I have lead a full life and have no regrets. I just wish to save my nation from the hatred that consumes it. At first I thought this war was just that, shedding all grievances and hatred. But now, after what Marks just admitted to...I'm beginning to have my doubts. Don't get me wrong, I will still fly for Rotiart but _only_ for Rotiart. Not some man who believes himself a mortal-turned-god. What about you de Launces?" Bertram chuckled a bit.

"To be honest, I'm with Wolff, religion-wise, but I also believe that it takes skill in the air. I never thought I'd be in a war. I thought that one day I'd end my service, marry, start a family, and live the rest of my life in peace." Dieter smiled and kept walking as they rounded the lake and eventually reached where Bertram could smell Flaire's scent.

"Flaire, I'm back." There was a rustle as Flaire rose and then sniffed the two new humans.

"These humans...one of them is wounded. Are these the two you had to rescue?"

"Yeah. They'll come with us out of the forest and from there we'll go our seperate ways." Dieter chuckled at that and looked at Bertram.

"We are unarmed you know? Marks took our weapons. You could shift into human form and draw your weapon on us, or even now in dragon form you could force us to surrender."

"That goes against what my mentor taught me. I was taught to respect those who fly the skies the same as we would respect our own. If you wished to surrender you could have done so at any time. I'll not force you. Besides, I still want to face you in the air."

"Just like me then, a warrior even on the ground. I knew there was something about you, kid." Wolff groaned as they carried on and then got their attention.

"Does anybody else see a light up ahead?" Dieter looked at his friend alarmed at first but then saw something as well.

"I see it to. What is that? It can't be Marks because they didn't bring lights with them."

At that moment, Bertram heard a low rumbling noise and saw another light drop through the trees. He immediately recognized it.

"It's a flare! There has to be a bomber overhead dropping flares to light our way out of the forest!" Dieter gave an appreciative whistle but then stopped.

"Another screwball Syllian plan that amazes me. If we can see these lights, there's a chance Marks can see them as well. We will follow the flares but at a distance away so that the forest can shroud us." Bertram nodded and then looked to Wolff.

"We can travel faster in dragon form so I'm going to have to ask you and Dieter to climb on. Flaire can't carry anyone in her condition so I'll carry both of you and have Flaire hang onto my tail." Bertram chuckled as he climbed onto Bertram's back.

"Riding a dragon...one more thing to scratch off the bucket list." As Bertram started off with his passengers and wincing as Flaire bit into his tail, he turned back.

"I wasn't aware you had one." Dieter sighed and nodded.

"I didn't when I was younger. Like any young fool I thought I was immortal, the Callinar Incursion changed all that." Bertram looked back at Dieter, interested, and listened to him continue.

"Lost too many friends in too short a time. Back then, parachutes were a luxury and the life expectancy of a pilot was one to three weeks. The first time I flew in combat I lost most of my squadron about an hour into the battle. They had sent a group of inexperienced nuggets against veteran pilots. I learned a lot of things from my opponents that day. Funny thing is the very next sortie, I was shot down and saved by the man known as the Crimson Tide of Callinar. I became a student of his and have never been shot down since."

Bertram thought over this as they went on following the flares. In the distance, they could hear curses which, to Wolff, meant that Marks likely had gotten turned around in the woods and chuckled. Dieter thought for a moment then took a breath.

"So Bertram, why were you flying a recon bomber? Rotiart has no interest in the areas you flew over, nor do we have a presense." Bertram puzzled whether or not he should tell them as they trudged on.

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Ayatane watched as the gunship flew along a somewhat straight path, dropping flares every so often to mark the way out of the forest. As the gunship began another run to drop flares over the areas where either the previous flares had gone out or there was too great a distance between flares, Jake spotted something and radioed the group.

_"Guys, I'm seeing metallic glints on the horizon and closing from the north. Possibility of enemy planes incoming."_

_"This is Chaser, I see them as well. What are your orders, sir?"_

Ayatane always believed himself to be more tactically minded than Bertram but this time direct force was needed.

"Hammer, take Archer, Chaser, and Snowman to intercept the fighters if that's what they are. Mace, Rapier and I will remain here to escort and protect the gunship. There's still plenty of forest left to light up."

The four planes broke formation and headed towards the group of planes. Moments later, tracers from Jake's plane lit arced across the sky as he yelled into the radio.

_"Contact! Gnorc planes, roughly thirty of them incoming. Hayate, look out from above, thirty more flying high!"_ Ayatane clicked his radio.

"Gunship this is _Hayate_, pick up speed, we've got enemies incoming."

_"Hayate, watch out! Ten fighters going after the gunship!"_

"Copy that, time to see what these new planes can do."

Ayatane pushed the throttle forward as far as it would go and lead a plane in a diving position. He wrapped his hand around the control stick and pressed the button and felt the recoil of the planes incredible armament. In a second, the enemy plane was shredded and another flew dorectly into the spray and was brought down as well. He heard his radio beep as Sahne came on, sounding aggravated.

_"These blasted gnorc planes are too slow! I can't lead them!"_

_ "Archer, you need to begin the lead further back! Your plane is the same as ours, equipped with three cannons and six machineguns, there should be no problem downing them!"_

Ayatane watched as a fighter tried to come at the gunship from below and cringed as one of the huge plane's cannons drove a 37mm shell through the plane. He watched the plane fall and crash close to where the trail of flares was and quickly hoped that Bertram was no where near that crash.

He spared a glance at the fighters coming in and couldn't help but feel a little sorry for them. The gnorc planes were too slow and had no armor and almost no weapons. Compared to the Rotiart planes or Damoneni planes, they were jokes. His next thought would later become the name for such engagements against Gnorc forces.

_(This isn't a dogfight...it's a turkey shoot.)_

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Bertram and the others had followed the flares to the edge of the forest. The next few steps took them outside the forest where a road from the west split in two. One road going east then north, another going directly south.

"Dieter, Wolff...I suppose this is where we must part ways." Dieter nodded and got off his back and supported Wolff.

"Indeed. Not far from here is a forward base where I can request transportation back to base. I'm sure the others will be very interested about you. Listen, I personally don't believe in the tricks Gnasty has done in the war, least of all what he did to your sister's mother-in-law. I'll tell you what I can do. It is a little disclosed secret that the Gnorcs and Rotiart forces don't get along very well. If, per say, a certrain location was to come under attack, we would do little to intervene. Rotiart will suffer very little if the gnorcs were...'removed' from the equation." Bertram couldn't hide his smile as he got what Dieter meant.

"Any particular location?" Dieter placed a hand on his chin in thought but then nodded.

"There is a place where the gnorcs have been wanting, and in Gnasty's case, _demanding,_ we send troops to guard a specific spot in a place called 'Concurrent Skies'. Naturally, Mechanos doesn't like being demanded to do anything. I personally believe he found something there and wants to deny it to your side. Be forewarned though, I cannot guarantee Mechanos has changed his mind or not. My suggestion to you is to get there, smash the gnorcs, get what you need, and then get the hell out of there before we are scrambled." Bertram nodded and shifted to shake Dieter's hand.

"Thanks Dieter." Dieter nodded but then grew grim.

"You do realize that the next time we face off, we will be enemies once more." Bertram sighed but nodded.

"Then I shall look forward to our next encounter. However, you could just defect. You don't seem to have much loyalty to Mechanos." Dieter chuckled but shook his head.

"No. That is not possible for me. To defect now would be to abandon my country. There is still some good in my homeland and I will not forsake it so easily. Perhaps in another month or so, Mechanos will step down due to his advanced age and maybe a more peaceful solution could be found. As long as my homeland is at risk of being destroyed I cannot do anything but shield it and my family. I know you'd say the same if I asked _you_ to defect."

Bertram nodded, turned and left without saying another word. He and Flaire were soon outside the forest and out of Dieter and Wolff's sight. As Dieter turned, Wolff looked questioningly at him.

"Captain, we could still get to our planes and chase them down. Capture them, wasn't that the original plan?" Dieter nodded but kept walking with his wounded friend in tow.

"I cannot allow a wounded comrade to bleed out while I search for glory. That was another thing my mentor taught me. To abandon a comrade for glory is immoral and wrong. Besides, to sharpen a sword you must first grind it against metal. To neglect this it to invite rust and corrosion. I am an ace, a pilot who must contantly match himself or his skills will fade." He paused and looked at the direction in which Bertram went and smiled.

"For the first time in a long time I have a worthy opponent. One who can match me turn for turn and never break a sweat. I fully intend to face him again and in doing so, perhaps I can save Rotiart before it is too far gone."

"What about that mission we were slated for? The bomber escort?"

"It will take time for the bombers to be ready with their payloads. This attack will take place sooner than that and afterwards, we can head for Damoneni to see this new bomber Mechanos wants us to escort."

"Captain...what do you think of the young adversary?" Dieter looked at the path Bertram and Flaire had gone and chuckled.

"He is a worthy opponent. Not the unskilled child I fought over Retorinc." Dieter thought back to something his mentor, the Crimson Tide, once said.

_A fighter pilot is not just a soldier who fights for country, but a knight who rides upon silver wings and fights for his ideals, his comrades, and lives by honor. A good day for a pilot is landing safely after an uneventful day. If he is lucky, his death will come swiftly at the hands of an opponent who matches him maneuver for maneuver, bullet for bullet, and does not falter in the face of adversity._

_To die in the sky, forever riding my silver wings among the clouds...that would be a good death. However, do not rush blindly towards death. Enjoy your life. Enjoy your family. Enjoy the company of your comrades in arms. Should death come for you, do everything you can to make your death one that they will tell of for centuries._

Dieter thought back on this as he and Wolff walked to the forward base and he smiled.

"My mentor was right." Wolff looked at him and raised an eyebrow curiously.

"About what, sir?"

"Everything."

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Fortune smiled on Bertram and Flaire as they met a group of humans in Praetorian uniforms not long after parting from Dieter. A medical squad rushed Flaire away to Warfang and Bertram, too tired to continue, decided to rest for a moment at the forward camp. Above, he heard the buzz of engines and saw his squadron flying alongside a gunship as they returned to base. He heard the groups celebratory yell when the camp commander radioed the squadron and told them their squadron leader was alive and was out of the forest.

The celebration however, was cut short with a radio report from the bombers that had created the diversion.

_"This is Postmaster to Praetorian 133rd, enemy tanks and infantry headed your way! Prepare for attack!"_

The camp commander turned to Bertram, a serious look in his eyes.

"Captain, we don't have the equipment here to hold off an attack of this magnitude. Please retreat with the wounded while we buy you time, if you die then your comrades efforts are in vain." Bertram shook his head when he heard this, a confident look on his face.

"Major, even if I retreated now, if you don't have the equipment, how long can you hold out before they catch the wounded on the road? No, I'm staying for as long as I can. Get me in contact with my squadron."

The Major, obviously wanting Bertram to get to safety, didn't decline his offer to help and handed him the radio.

"Ayatane, this is Bertram, we've got enemies inbound and we need to hold the front. I have a confirmation that the lair of Tomar is in Concurrent Skies, that's what this offensive is mainly for, denying us a road to that area so that the gnorcs can scavenge it at will. You guys have new planes right? Use them to harass the enemy. Postman, what is the main component of the enemy force?"

_"Mainly gnorc infantry with a few Rotiart units and as for the tanks, looks like Rotiart LPz 1's and 2's and I __**think**__ I see a MPz-3 in the rear. Light armor, no anti-tank firepower whatsoever except for the MPz-3. See if the Praetorians have any anti-tank weapons lying around."_ Bertram turned to the camp commander who nodded.

"We have two M50 Portable mortars and one B37 Bazooka but the bazooka only has one round for it. Most of the rounds were lost when the transport carrying them went down in that sneak attack a few days back."

"How many mortar rounds?" Asked Bertram, having an idea.

"Fifteen fragmentation, four incendiary, and thirty smoke rounds...each. Why?"

"What color smoke?"

"Red, white, and green. Standard colors for calling...in...air support!" Bertram smiled and got back on the radio.

"Ayatane, is that gunship still over us?"

_"Yeah, they're here, callsign is Buglamp."_ Bertram suppressed the urge to laugh and switched frequencies to the gunship.

"Buglamp this is Bertram de Launces. I'm down here with a few Praetorian friends of mine who're wondering if you still have plenty of rounds left."

_"That is affermative. We are packing."_

"Good because we've got some gnorc and Rotiart forces that could _really_ use a couple of 37mm enemas. You got that prescription?"

The laughter coming from the radio was loud and the whole camp, despite the situation, was laughing and grinning at the joke as the gunship's radio operator answered.

_"Copy that. Hold please while we process your order...we've got twenty 37's left, you got the address?"_

"Drop them wherever you see red smoke. Also, if you happen to take out a tank or two there'll be a tip in it for you."

_"Copy on that tip but we'll exchange it for a few drinks back at the base."_ Bertram chuckled and nodded.

"Very well guys, and Ayatane's buying." Ayatane, who was on the frequency, was quick to voice his objections.

_"I bloody well am __**not**__! It's __**your**__ ass we're saving Bertram so __**you'll**__ be picking up the tab. I've seen how much these bomber jocks drink and it ain't pretty."_

_ "Oh yeah Hayate? Well, a little bird told us that he saw you and a certain female cheetah making goo-goo eyes at each other before takeoff this morning and also saw the both of you k-i-s-s-i-n-g in the hangar the night before!"_

Before Bertram could think of anything to say, he heard Reyson's voice over the radio.

_ "Hey! No airing dirty laundry over the air you two, you're making the natives restless! Anyway, Bertram, there is a transport coming in to collect you at the behest of your sister. I'm escorting it in so be ready when we arrive in about...fifteen minutes."_

"If all goes according to plan the skirmish won't last that long."

_"When the hell have things __**ever**__ gone 'according to plan'?"_

An explosion cut off Bertram's retort as the Praetorian light tank near the outskirts of the camp exploded into several pieces. The commander looked about worriedly and then sighed with relief as he saw the tank's crew nearby swearing vehemontly. Bertram looked to the commander and saw his worried expression.

"Was that the only tank we had?"

"Yep." Bertram looked out where the round had come from and saw a _massive_ Rotiart tank supporting the gnorcs and swore. A nearby solder saw the same thing and uttered the first thing he thought of.

"We're fucked."

"Yep." The commander and Bertram replied simultaneously.

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Okay guys, sorry about that but turns out the chapter was just too long so I had to split it. I'm still working on the second half so don't worry, it'll be out soon.

Until next time, please review.

Oh! While I'm thinking about it, I posted the prologue to an Assassin's Creed story I had come up with. I'll update that one when time permits but it is not on a front burner at the moment. Also, I've begun creating maps and whatnot for the stories I write and am posting them on my DeviantART page.

They're simple (mainly because I'm stuck with Windows Paint) but they explain the geography well. I will also be posting drawings of machines featured in World Fury and maybe backtracking to Metal Storm so keep an eye out.

Take care and thanks for reading.


	17. The Hydra Strikes

(foreword)

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 16: The Hydra Strikes

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Dieter heard the explosion in the distance and then looked over the pass on the other side of the forest and cursed as a massive lumbering tank-like machine rumbled forward at a snail's pace.

The construct was huge, roughly the size of a two-story house. It held three large turrets, each with four large guns protruding around the circumfrance. Every time a cannon fired, the turret rotated to the next gun and when that one fired, it rotated again. This kept on until either the enemy surrendered, retreated, or they were crushed. The base of the machine was a 'Merrimack-style' bunker that also held cannons and machineguns and along the sides were multiple 'blisters' that held a low caliber cannon and a coaxial machinegun.

Dieter stood open-mouthed in shock as he beheld the monstrocity, not because he didn't know what it was, but because he couldn't possible have imagined the rumors about it were true or that it could actually be deployed here of all places.

Wolff got the same incredulous look on his face when he saw it as well.

"What in the name of all that's holy is _that_?!" Dieter frowned and watched the machine move towards the Praetorian camp.

"That, Wolff, is what was originally the southern battery of Fort Hydra. I'd only heard rumors that Mechanos had decommissioned the fort and had it dismantled but to actually _see_ the proof before my own eyes is something else entirely."

Wolff recalled rumors that the historic fort had been disassembled by Mechanos' order stating that the fort was 'the epitome of human stupidity' but never did he imagine that making the battery _move_ was Mechanos' true intention all along. He turned to Dieter and became serious.

"How did this happen?" Dieter shrugged.

"I knew Mechanos was working on a project to replace the _Olympus_ but to actually build the thing as quickly as that and also _transport _it...there had to be a massive ship to even carry the thing."

"Captain, what should we do?"

"Pray. Pray that the Praetorians can hold out until their allies launch their own attacks. I don't know why, but I suddenly want to blame Marks for this somehow..."

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(on board the Rotiart Mobile Bunker '_Hydra_')

In the radio room of the Rotiart superweapon, the _Hydra_'s commander listened to the voice of Lord Mechanos with undivided attention. He, along with his senior officers, were present for the briefing.

_"Commander, this front in Avalon is taking too long. I have sent you here to ensure that, even though the blitz was blunted by these Syllian reinforcements, Warfang falls. I have also failed to hear back from the X-9 that was sent to bomb the city earlier and thus your mission is two-fold. Capture Warfang and end Syllian and Praetorian meddling in this area and find and recover the X-9 or whatever is left of it. If it crashed into the city, we cannot have the Syllians sending it back to James de Launces and having him decypher its purpose. Remember, failure isn't an option."_

The commander keyed the mike and gave his reply.

"We shall not fail you my Lord. One question though, what of our 'allies'?"

_"Once Warfang is dealt with, you can deal with the gnorcs however you like. They have proved themselves too much trouble and too unreliable to be of any further use to me. Complete this assignment, and I shall ensure your promotion."_

The radio went dead as static filled the room and the Commander turned to his officers.

"Return to your posts, all of you. Lieutenant Fleming, a word with you."

All the officers except for one filed out of the office as the Commander drew a folder from the desk and proceeded to sit at the desk.

"Now then, Lieutenant, you were transferred under my command shortly before we deployed. While I haven't made any significant inquiries into your previous assignments, I wanted to ask you as to why you wanted to join us on this particular mission."

The lieutenant clicked his heels and saluted proudly.

"I wanted to serve my country as best I could sir. I may be on in my years but I'm still far more experienced than any of these youngers." The Commander sighed and nodded.

"Indeed. The old guard like you and I are becoming extinct. These young people believe they have to fight as hard as they can but that's only half of it. They must learn to crush their enemies without remorse or mercy."

The officer remained stoic and tightlipped as the commander continued.

"Now then, Lieutenant, onto the reason I asked you in here. Why did you transfer from your previous post?"

The officer's face was completely shadowed as the commander asked this, as if he were contemplating his next action. The commander repeated the question again and this time the officer looked up and gave a ghost of a smile.

"I wanted to end the war. To do that, this machine, and you, must be stopped."

The commander went wide-eyed in rage at the insolence until he saw the Lieutenant produce a silenced Syllian pistol from his coat and fire two shots into the commander's chest. After barring the door, the man went to the desk and found some documents detailing the design of the machine as well as papers referring to something known as 'Project Blackwing'.

He quickly undid the binding in his coat and placed the documents there with the others he had stolen from right under Mechanos' nose and then exited the office and locked the door to ensure no one would 'disturb' the commander.

Nathaniel Sharps, spymaster and head of Syllian Intelligence, decided to call his mission a success and to now get the intel to the soldiers in Warfang. Wasting little time, he got to the radio room, silenced the clerk, and barred the door to begin transmitting.

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Bertram couldn't believe his eyes at the size of the machine that was slowly crawling towards them. The Praetorians, true to form, were throwing everthing but the kitchen sink at incoming gnorc infantry and smaller tanks while the fighters and gunship were peppering the supertank.

All apparently to no avail as the machine kept crawling towards them. The commander looked at him and shrugged.

"All we can do is hold off the enemy forces but against that tank we're helpless! Captain de Launces, please withdraw!" Bertram shook his head and instead reached for a nearby bolt-action rifle, grenade belt, and even grabbed a pack of rounds for an M50 Mortar. The commander looked at Bertram aghast as he smiled and started to walk out of the tent.

"Retreat has never been in a de Launces' dictionary. My father never ran and neither am I." The men in the tent looked at Bertram with impressed expressions as the commander pulled his officer's cap off and replaced it with a helmet.

"Oh what the hell. If we are to die, then at least let us die fighting and take as many of the bastards with us as we possibly can, am I right?"

The cheering was deafening as Bertram exited the tent with the commander right behind him. After taking a second to see where a mortar was, he ran over to it and dropped off the shells before running to the barricade where several soldiers were firing their rifles into the oncoming enemy force.

A few second later, mortar rounds began falling on the advancing forces. The gnorcs hesitated and actually fell back for a moment letting the tanks roll forward without protection. At that moment, the Rotiart MPz-3 rotated its turret and fired on the barricade. Bertram eased back up and looked around and saw something he wished he hadn't.

The bazooka operator and his loader were dead.

Thinking quickly, Bertram tossed the rifle aside and made a dead sprint for the fallen anti-tank weapon. Bullets from the now advancing LPz-1s and 2s pelted the barricade but somehow none of the rounds touched him. He picked up the bazooka and fitted the wooden buffer to his shoulder and looked through the side mounted sights and zeroed in on the MPz-3.

Once the tank was lined up, Bertram pulled the trigger and felt the recoil as the bazooka fired.

The round flew straight and true, striking the tank's machinegun blister on the front. There was a gout of flame and then a powerful explosion _lifted_ the turret off the tank and sent it flying backwards and landing on a squad of gnorc soldiers. The treads blew away sending shrapnel into the ranks, the frame buckled and the whole tank chassis dropped flat and burned as the fuel tank ruptured.

Unfaltering, the LPz-1s and LPz-2s renewed their attack and focused exclusively on Bertram's position. Bertram dove for cover behind an outcropping of rocks that was part of the barricade. Then, he heard a roaring sound and looked up to see Ayatane's plane drop from the sky in a steep dive and strafe the tanks. The armor on the closest LPz-1 was no match for the upgraded cannons and was riddled with holes.

A second later, a large '_BOOM_' was heard and a 37mm shell from the gunship slammed another LPz-2. The other planes from the squadron began dropping and strafing the tanks and infantry. Their hope restored, the Praetorian forces began fighting back hard. Every round hit its mark, every man was as good as a sniper. Then, a siren sounded from the large supertank that had been closing slowly and a voice came from the machine.

_"Attention! Attention! The _Hydra_ will commense bombardment! All allies fall back to safety positions!"_ Bertram saw the huge turrets beginning to rotate to the next salvo.

"Oh shit."

He braced for the blast that would end him but then he heard a series of loud noises from _behind_ him. Nearby, a portable radio came to life.

_"This is the 333rd Heavy Artillery Division! Payload going out, keep your heads down!"_

Seconds later over forty explosions impacted the Hydra. Several of its smaller guns were knocked out but the large turrets were better armored than that and then unexpectedly raised and opened fire.

The noise was deafening as the cannons roared. As the shells arced, the radio came on again.

_"This is the 333rd, we've been hit! Severe damage to guns and several casualties! Damn! How'd they __**do**__ that?!"_

The radio crackled for a moment and then someone else came on the radio.

_"This is Nathaniel Sharps to any allied forces. I am on board the _Hydra_. Listen, I was present when the machine was __**built**__and there are a few key flaws you should be aware of."_

The commander angrily grabbed the radio and cursed into it.

"I don't give a damn who you are, this radio is for military use only!" Bertram quickly grabbed the radio from the commander and then keyed it.

"General Sharps? This is Bertram de Launces, remember me?" There was a laugh on the other end.

_"Remember you? Boy, my foot __**still**__ hurts where you stepped on it a few years back when you were just learning how to shift into dragon form! What the hell are you doing on the ground? I thought you were a pilot?" _Bertram chuckled remembering the incident and then nodded to the commander.

"Long story. Hey, you said something about weaknesses in the machine?"

_"Yeah, I was going over the blueprints and noticed a few things. The first is that the engines are under an incredible strain to move this thing. All they need is a bazooka shell or perhaps a few 20mm cannon rounds to disable them. The only way to reach the engines from outside however, are two vents on either side near the rear that are not very thick and can be easily broken through. Shoot through those vents and you'll hit the engines and disable this thing. Another is that this tank was once part of a fortress, that being said, it may have electricity but it isn't insulated. I trust you know what that means?"_ The commander looked to Bertram with a confused expression.

"What does he mean Captain?" Bertram smiled and then changed frequencies.

"This is Bertram de Launces to Warfang. Calling Warfang! We need a wing of lightning or electric dragons out at our location ASAP. We have encountered an enemy vehicle that can only be destroyed by lightning or electrical attacks. It's the only thing standing between us and Concurrent Skies as well as the Lair of Tomar the Wise!"

The commander looked at him curiously but Bertram smiled.

"Be patient."

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Spyro lay where he had remained beside Cynder. He was worried for not only his mate but also for Bertram. Thera had made a habit of keeping a radio in the house and listening to any broadcasts about her brothers. He was in the middle of a doze when the silent radio sprang to life.

_"This is Bertram de Launces to Warfang. Calling Warfang! We need a wing of lightning or electric dragons out at our location ASAP. We have encountered an enemy vehicle that can only be destroyed by lightning or electrical attacks. It's the only thing standing between us and Concurrent Skies as well as the Lair of Tomar the Wise!"_

Spyro perked up and gazed at the radio in disbelief. Had he heard right? The counterspell was just beyond one enemy? He gazed at his mate's still form and thought he saw a glimmer from her eyes. He gave her an affectionate lick on the cheek and rose. As he turned to leave, he heard a voice from behind and saw his grandson, Ryu, standing there and staring at him with an expression of surprise. Spyro nodded.

"Tell your mother I've gone out for a while. There's something that I need to do."

He left the house leaving a stunned Ryu in the room with Cynder. As he walked the streets, people gave way to him as he belatedly realized that he had a look on his face that practically screamed _'Don't get in my way'_. He shrugged off their glances and went to the Dracocorps base in Warfang and found his son making preparations to fly to Bertram's aid. The wing caught first glimpse of him and the wing's commander, a young electric dragon, hastily got Ignitus' attention. As he turned and saw his father, his eyes went wide.

"Fath-" Spyro hushed him with one claw raised in the same manner a human would raise a finger.

"I'm going." Ignitus stood there, completely dumbfounded as Spyro came forward and stood before the wing.

"I've decided I'm done sitting on my tail and sulking. We know where Tomar's lair is and if saving Cynder means defeating an enemy weapon then so be it. Have the wing ready to take off immediately. Be warned though, I'll be flying fast so don't expect or ask me to slow down. Lives are on the line, not just soldiers or other dragons. The lives of my mate depends on us finding that lost lair and Bertram de Launces, my son's brother-in-law, is also in danger and I _never_ leave family behind." With that, Spyro leapt into the air, pelting everyone around him with bits of dirt and dust as his great wings lifted him skyward.

As he settled on the course for the battle, he was aware of the wing taking off and settling in alongside him in a hybrid 'squadron/defence' formation.

_(I'll save them. I have to.)_

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While the squadron certainly was surprised by the enemy superweapon crawling towards the front, they had more pressing concerns. The bomber wing that had taken off that morning was now returning and they were being swarmed with enemy fighters. Furthermore, they were in a sort of 'double jeopardy' as they had sighted a formation of bombers coming at the front as well. Jake was the first to see the bombers and Ayatane heard him over the radio.

_"Enemy above! Enemy above! Bombers, one o'clock high!"_ Ayatane quickly saw the bombers and then gave out the orders for the squadron.

"Hammer, take Archer and Chaser and stay with those bombers. The rest of us will engage the enemy bombers."

_"Hammer copies. Good luck."_

Ayatane angled his plane towards the enemy formation and pushed the throttle all the way forward. The four bladed propellor and supercharged engine roared loudly as it thundered through the sky. Taking a bead on the lead bomber, Ayatane squeezed the trigger on the flight stick and felt the still impressive recoil of the weapons as they fired. He held the trigger for a three second burst and was pleased to see his rounds rip through the bomber mid-fuselage. The bomber's entire tail section gave a loud 'pop' as the weakened frame finally buckled, twisted, and broke away.

He spared a glance and saw the other planes in his group firing as well and each managed to down a bomber. Gnorc fighters as well as some Rotiart fighters were now in the mix but it hardly mattered as the planes lacked the markings of truly 'experienced' fighter pilots. Most likely this entire formation was nothing but recruits eager to cut their teeth on an easy escort mission.

Ayatane squeezed the trigger in reflex as a Rotiart plane literally flew into his gunsights and stayed there. A second later, another rookie executed a poorly timed split S and slammed into a gnorc fighter which then crashed into a wounded enemy bomber. The rookies were bringing down as many of themselves and their allies as Ayatane and his squadron was.

A second later he saw tracers fly by and strike Miller's plane. The P-31 began spewing smoke and he heard Miller's voice through the radio.

_"Shit, that was close! Bastard nearly scrambled my brains with that pass. I'm dropping low Hayate, I'm out of the fight, Rapier returning to base. Anyone see that bastard, neuter the sonofabitch for me."_

_"Mace here, I see the bastard. Rotarian plane, all black, red highlights, ID is...RS4-22F. Any ideas as to who the hell this is?"_ As if in answer, the radio piped up.

_"This is Warfang Aerial Command. Mace, could you repeat that ID?"_ Jake keyed the radio and repeated the ID.

_ "Royal, Samson, Four dash Two-Two, Foxbat."_

There was a pause for a moment before the radio came on again.

_"Mace, Hayate, can you engage that plane? It is being flown by Lieutenant Hershiel Koltur, he's a pilot for Mechanos' R&amp;D division and is also a highly decorated ace. If we can capture him, he may provide some insight into Mechanos' research and what Rotiart is up to."_ Ayatane kept Koltur's plane in his sight and then angled his nose down and began to pursue him.

"This is Hayate, I'm on him."

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Barring the Hydra, Bertram though the ground battle was going well. Though the Praetorians had suffered some casualties, they were holding their own.

He was forced to rethink that as a shell from the Hydra impacted the far side of the barricade, flattening six soldiers.

The riflemen were running out of ammunition, the mortars had long since ceased firing. Of the some one-hundred fifty men they had started with, only forty were still alive. Reyson's flight had been blindsided by an enemy attack force and the trasport that was meant to evac him had been lost and now the squadron that was meant to reinforce them was engaged elsewhere. A section of the Syllian 412th Armored, more commonly known as the 'Iron Legion', had been dispatched to aid them but was bogged down as well. As things stood, this section of the front was the weakest.

Bertram was sure the enemy knew that and was focusing all their reserve firepower on this one five mile stretch of the front.

At the moment, Bertram was down to his sidearm as his rifle had run out of bullets everyone around him was down to their last strip-clips. The commander of the force Bertram had been fighting alongside had been wounded and had been dragged from the line leaving Bertram in charge as well as leaving him with his own sidearm and the rounds with it.

Bertram had initially found this odd, leaving a Syllian pilot in charge of Praetorian soldiers, yet the situation was cleared up when the next highest ranking soldier, a Master Sergeant, told him he was the only officer left uninjured. The soldier was near him, rleaying his orders to the group when the shell from the Hydra impacted. Seeing six men fall at once, Bertram turned to his second-in-command.

"Master Sergeant! Have the men spread out. We can't hold out much longer if the bastards can take us out six or ten at a time! Have the rest of them men divide into groups of two and take up positions along the line. Furthermore, we're losing rounds too quickly, some of the men are firing in a blind panic. Have these men surrender their weapons and carry the ammunition for those who can shoot. We'll do what the Tellanians did at the Battle of Retorinc." The Master Sergeant turned to him, curious.

"If you'll forgive me sir, no Praetorian soldiers were there. What did they do?" Bertram remembered the soldiers well during the rare time he had on the ground in between sorties.

"Give the rifles to the best marksmen in the group, give the others ammunition. If the riflemen get killed, the second man takes the rifle and continues fighting." The Master Sergeant nodded and then issued the orders. He then turned to three men near him.

"Blakes, Connors, Wesley, you three are the only men we have left fit to call themselves snipers. Take what rounds you need, take positions close, but not too close, to us and begin to snipe any and all targets that enter your sights." The three men nodded, grabbed some spare ammunition from the bodies fo their fallen comrades, moved to positions near Bertram and the Master Sergeant and began their attacks.

Through the small hole where Bertram had been watching the forces and firing his rifle and later his sidearm through, he saw the results of the snipers instantly.

Focusing only on the enemy officers, the snipers began instilling their trademark style of terror into the enemy ranks. Officers that stood proudly at the head of the seemingly 'victorious' army began falling three at a time, each with a single bullet wound to the head. Those that weren't targeted immediatley dove for whatever cover was available. Most cover being the destroyed and burning husks of the tanks and the advance ground to a halt.

The enemy forces, though stalled were now almost 'within spitting distance' of the Praetorian lines and a few were even braving the withering fire to engage in hand to hand combat. The Praetorians, armed with rifle mounted bayonets and 'knuckleduster' combat knives, engaged those who dared to come close enough. Bertram saw one soldier's bayonet actually break loose from the fitting on the barrel and the quick witted soldier reversed his grip on the rifle and used it as a club to bash the gnorc's brains out. The soldier then swung the weapon in an 'golf style' swing and connected with the chin of a Rotiart soldier.

Another soldier has forsaken his rifle and instead held two saber bayonets and was cutting a bloody swath through the melee. Another had a revolver and knuckleduster and was fighting fiercely, another had traded his sidearm to a comrade and was dual-wielding knuckledusters while his friend was duel-wielding revolvers. One big bodied Praetorian was even swinging the bazooka around and bashing heads in with it.

Suddenly there was a gnorc before him and Bertram took aim with his sidearm and pulled the trigger.

'_Click!_'

Bertram's eyes went wide as the gnorc advanced, a grin spreading over his face. Around him the others were all engaged in their own battles and he thought he heard the Master Sergeant call out to him. The gnorc started to charge at him, sword raised when there was a blinding flash and loud crack accompanied by a shriek from the direction the gnorc had been.

When Bertram dared to open his eyes, he was greeted with the sight of a pile of ashes where the gnorc had once stood and following the sound of wingbeats he looked up and saw a dragon he recognized quickly.

"Uncle Zakwel!"

Zakwel gave a smile and a nod to his nephew and then turned away to rejoin the group of dragons winging their way to the Hydra. Leading that formation was none other than Spyro, and even from where he was, Bertram could see electricity and lightning arcing from his scales and horns. He was mad and he was NOT going to show restraint on the enemy.

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Hello everyone. Sorry for the long, long, long, long wait on the story update. I had a _LOT_ of things going on at home with my dad and my mom so I wasn't able to type as fast as I should have, plus I had recurring writer's block and actually pulled some muscles fixing the AC at the house as well as getting rid of a broken washing machine and installing a new one.

Go figure.

Anyway, for those of you who didn't or don't know, I am now on DeviantART and I am beginning to post some digital art from my stories (maps, vehicles, devices, etc.) as well as posting some of my writing there. Be sure to drop by and visit as my door, or in this case webpage, is always open.

It may be a while before my next update so just to let you all know.

As always, please review, PM, fav, or follow.

Next Time: Beheading the Hydra: Charge Into Concurrent Skies!


	18. Beheading the Hydra

Hey everybody! Guess what day it is!

...

...

Sorry. I started typing this on Wednesday and for some reason almost on every channel I flipped to on TV there was a Geico or an Old Spice commercial.

In other news, Autumn has come at last to the United States, temperatures are no longer in the high 90's or triple digits, and now I have a giant sandbox in my backyard.

I'm serious. I was planning to grow some Autumn vegtables and pumpkins but it has been so dry here that nothing, not even the grass, is growing. The dirt I tilled up has already died up and has become nothing but a big pile of sand. On another note, now that it's cooled down I'm about to start to try and get in shape. My road is three miles long and I'm planning to walk the entire length twice a day meaning if I did my math right that'll be twelve miles a day.

Also hunting season is starting and also I've got my hands full working to get everything ready for the Provencal Fall Festival.

For those of ya'll who don't know or haven't heard of it, every year on the second weekend of November, Provencal celebrates Fall. On Friday we get everything set up, the Volunteer Fire Department (of which I am proudly a member of) helps the vendors set up their stalls as well as enjoy the Gumbo cook-off competition, some games, as well as food, and finally the Evening of Memories in which we remember our family members who are no longer with us. Some people place bags around the walking track with the names of the loved ones written on them and a little electronic candle and others send paper lanterns into the sky.

Saturday is when it all kicks off with the Fire Department firing up the grill and selling BBQ plates (your choice of Chicken, Sausage, or both), live music, dancing, a scavenger hunt (mainly for kids), door prizes, and finally the parade.

But ya'll are here to read the story not my news updates...anyway, onto the story!

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERS. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 17: Beheading the Hydra: Charge Into Concurrent Skies!

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Spyro dived in through the clouds, electricity arcing across his scales and between his teeth. He could see smoking pieces of debris that he had assumed were parts of the machine that had already been destroyed. He looked over the machine for the perfect spot to fire a bolt of electricity and no sooner did he start looking than he saw his target.

A metal grate on the front of the body under the massive top turret was rising revealing windows and a control room of sorts. He was able to see into the machine and saw the crew running back and forth on the bridge to carry out their orders.

_(If Bertram is right and this thing has no defence against electricity, I should be able to launch a bolt through the window and destroy their ability to move and command this thing.)_ Spyro thought as he dove. He closed his wings to pick up speed, angled himself perfectly and managed to fly right between the cannon barrels of the top turret and stop mere feet from the control center.

If the situation hadn't been as serious as this, he'd have laughed at the expressions of the humans inside the control center. All of them, even their officers, going pale to a man and scrambling to get out of the room. One quick-witted soldier rushed towards the controls to the grate and jerked the lever down so hard he broke it from the wall.

A mechanical hum started and the shutter started crawling down the window. Spyro sighed at the dramatics and saw the soldier cursing as the shutter closed. Spyro finished building up energy and launched a high-powered bolt straight into the control center. The window that the bolt hit 'poofed' and turned into a cloud of dust while the other seven shattered simultaneously. The soldier who had activated the shutter hadhis hand on the door and was shoving his way past the other soldiers when the bolt hit.

The electricity arced between soldiers, made their hair stand out on end, and gave stunning displays of their skeletal structures. Machines burst into flames, gauges shattered, papers caught fire and were blown out of the room with the shockwave, lights flickered, grew brighter, then exploded. Then a fire suppression system of some sort turned on but the electricity was so intense that the water flash-steamed with in turn shorted out the machines the electricity hadn't damaged.

Spyro cut the flow of electricity and examined his work. The majority of the enemy were dead, their bodies smoking, those that weren't were twitching, fires had erupted from nealry all the machines and those that weren't were sparking furiously as they shorted out. He heard a metal creak and saw the shutter begining to break free from the window and come down with a slam. A gear flew by him as well as a section of chain. Seeing the shutter beginning to fail, Spyro dropped further and flew away along the port side of the machine.

As he approached the rear, he saw two sections of the machine that looked weaker thanthe rest of the hull and heard a humming noise from inside. He immediately heard a high pitched scream and saw one of the Syllian planes diving at the machine, guns blazing. Spyro pushed himself out of the way and watched as the rounds ripped through the plate. The humming was louder now and the plane had left the machine. Cautiously, he stuck his head down the hole and saw a huge machine working to propel the Hydra forward.

A man's yelling got his attention as he saw a soldier, someone of rank apparently, angrily pointing at the destroyed vent seemingly oblivious to Spyro. The officer might be oblivious but his subordinates sure weren't.

One soldier all but ripped the door off a weapon locker and fumbled with the safety before aiming it at the vent. The officer, at first curious, turned and then swore a string of profanities that seemed more at home coming from a sailor than a soldier. Spyro ducked out fo the engine room just as bullets started bouncing from around the vent and he watched as tracers shot through the opening.

At that moment a siren went off and red lights flashed all along the deck of the machine. Hatches that had blended seemlessly into the deck popped open and out rushed men with everything from machineguns and rifles to knives and even tools such as wrenches, crobars, and large socket wrenches. All of which now pointed at _his_ direction.

A low grinding noise got his attention and he looked to see one of the smaller turrets turn and lower its gun at him. Spyro looked between the turret and the soldiers and shrugged. Without warning, he engaged the time element and shot from the Hydra into the clouds. Needless to say, the sight of a dragon all but vanishing from the deck unnerved the gunner at the controls of the turret and his hand yanked the firing lever out of pure instinct.

Spyro may as well have been gone for an hour by the time the youth pulled the lever, sending the massive round down the barrel and blowing a hole in the machine and killing or wounding nearly all the people on the deck. Nor were they the only casualties of the wild shot.

The shell had pierced the armor, went through the deck, and had impacted the main engine and detonated. Immediately the interior of the Hydra went dark and then took on a red hue as emergency lights came on using the back-up generator in the front. Needless to say, the Hydra, with no power from its engine, screeched to a halt as well.

Spyro allowed himself a moment to savor the victory when the turrets rotated and began firing again. He had stopped the machine from moving but didn't disable the guns.

A clap of thunder resounded through the air and Spyro turned to see Zakwel diving, much like he had done earlier, the only exception being Zakwel released a huge blast of lightning that arced across the side of the main turret and watching in satisfaction as the lightning melted two of the guns encircling the turret and detonating the rounds within the chambers.

There was a loud explosion from the main turret as the side Zakwel hit bulged out and then broke loose, the sound of popping rivets, shredding steel, and soldier's screams added to the noise. The section, as well as part of the roof was gone revealing the guts of the turret.

The Each section of two guns in the top turret was its own self contained room. Each chamber had fittings for two cannons, a hatch to a central lift for crew, and an elevator for artillery rounds, powder, and other things. There was also liquid spraying from severed hoses in the section that smelled strongly of the same type of oil the Syllians used in their planes to lubricate the parts of the engine.

Right behind Zakwel was Ignitus who apparently smelled the scent as well and breathed a stream of fire down onto the open area. The liquid immediately burst into flames and set the liquid that had cascaded down the side of the turret alight.

On the ground, Earth dragons who had followed them used their energies to create barrier after barrier in front of the machine as well as rapidly fortify the Praetorian positions. A few more independantly minded dragons flew over the lines and dropped weapons and ammunition to the soldiers below.

At that moment, another rumbling was heard and Spyro turned to see several tanks rumbling through the Concurrent Skies pass and approaching the Hydra, preparing to assist it. Each tank looked like the ones that were already burning but these had two, three, or four long barrels extending from their turrets and these guns raised up nearly vertical and began firing on the airborne dragons. An ice dragon flew low to attack one of these tanks but the turret turned and all four barrels fired, riddling him with holes and he crashed onto another tank. Spyro heard Zakwel curse as he finished another dive.

"Those are anti-air tanks! Cheeky bastards! They must have improved their firepower if they can take down a dragon!" Spyro nodded and then looked to the other.

"Order the others to fall back! We can't help anyone if we get shot down!" Zakwel nodded but as he turned, he heard a high pitched whine and looked above the clouds to see planes streaking from the clouds. Each plane bore Syllian markings and Spyro immediately recognized the lead plane as Reyson Havvers.

As if on perfect que, the planes spread out and each dropped a single bomb or fired a salvo of rockets at the tanks. Spyro watched in amazement as the bombs all but caved in the turrets before exploding and the rockets, fired in burst of two or three, destroyed their targets as well.

Still though, several tanks were still working and were advancing. Some of the smaller tanks had leveled their guns and began firing on the barricade.

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Inside the Hydra, the alarms were almost to the point of deafening as Sharps, still in Rotiart uniform, ran down the corridor and headed for one of the exits. He'd been forced to silence two more officers and a young private who'd stumbled upon him as he killed the last. The face of the kid, probably seventeen, likely lied about his age, remained with him, his expression changing from one that bespoke a need to relieve oneself to one of sheer terror even as the silenced bullets ripped through his jacket and piecred his lungs and heart he had kept that expression, never crying out, never trying to fight back...

Just afraid.

Sharps cursed and wiped the image from his mind.

_(This is war. People die. Kids who should by all means still be in school or trying to start a life of their own die. I do not judge who lives or dies, I just do my duty to protect my country. To protect __**my**__ children so that they need not make these choices.)_

As he rounded a corner, he saw a group of Rotiart soldiers frantically trying to supress a fire that had broken out. They were standing at the only viable exit hatch that was between the front hatch and the largest concentration of Rotarian soldiers, and the back exit that was by now either blocked by debris or in flames. Luckily it seemed that the only one in charge was a young corproal who then saw him and waved him over.

"Sir! Section Nine is secure but in flames, we still have men trapped in Sections Ten, Eleven, and Twelve! Comms are down and we can't contact the Command Bridge, what are our orders?" Sharps looked at the DC (Damage Control) crew and nodded. He may not have a choice of which lives he take sbut at least he can save some, at least until the enemy outside claimed them.

"The Command Center as well as the engines have been destroyed and the Commander has been killed. Corporal, I'm afraid the Hydra is lost. Save what men you can and begin evacuation now. Sector Three is blocked off with debris and we are isolated with no way to reach the turrets either. Take your men and save yourselves."

The Corporal let out a sigh, of defeat or relief Sharps could not say, and then turned to his men.

"DC Fifteen...abandon your posts."

A burly private wrenched the hatch open and then started motioning the crew through the door. The Corporal turned back to Sharps.

"Sir, there's a good chance the enemy is out there. Forgive me for defeatism thoughts but I believe we should surrender. We ARE soldiers but we are not trained in weaponry, we are trained in system repair and mechanics." Sharps looked surprised for a moment then allowed his gaze to soften.

"The men of DC15 are your family are they not? Do whatever it takes to protect them so that you can all see your loved ones again. If that means surrender, so be it."

"Sir, I have a request. Could you go with them? My...my brother is still here somewhere. He went to go take a leak before the attack and I haven't seen him since." Sharps immediately recalled the face and the name of the young man he had killed and looked to the soldier's jacket before him.

Shaw.

The same name that was on this man's uniform before him.

"The reason I ask sir is that our parents are dead and he lied about his age to enlist. I..uh..found him out when my commander thought it'd be a hoot to have two brothers working in the same unit. He's the only biological family I have left." Sharps' face took on a dark cast as he eyed the Corporal.

"I'm sorry. He won't make it." The manm froze as he eyed the officer before him.

"H-He's gone?" Sharps nodded, then thought of a convincing lie to tell both the boy and himself.

"He..He saved my life. I was trapped trying to save a member of my group when he came along and threw me out of the way before a bulkhead collapsed. If it's any consolation, it was quick and he felt no pain. Corporal...things happen in war we cannot explain nor can we forget. Do not think that dying here will justify grief. Live. Live with your successes and your failures. Remember the fallen and do not forsake them no matter what tale history tells. I myself have been doubting the reasons for this war. I have seen too much death for so little gained." He placed a hand on the soldier's shoulder.

"Your brother is dead, yes, but your brothers in arms still need you. Now then, let's go."

The corporal looked to Sharps, tears in his eyes but nodded and leapt out of the hatch. Sharps followed a second later.

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Bertram found relief a little hard to grasp. Mainly because despite the best efforts of the dragons the Hydra was still firing at them and the enemy infantry was still getting over the improvised earthen barricades. Though, not to look a gift horse in the mouth so to speak, he WAS glad of the ammunition that the dragons dropped to them.

A moment later, he heard a loud droning noise above him and, looking up, was greeted by an entire formation of Praetorian twin engine fighter-bombers that were approaching the Hydra.

A split second later, the formation of aircraft launched a barrage of rockets and bombs that could be described as impressive although 'overkill' might be a more suitable term. Bertram could only look on in absolute amazement as the rockets and bombs impacted the Hydra and the surrounding enemy. Fires bloomed throughout the rent places in the armor, sirens from the inside echoed, and Bertram could see soldiers abandoning their posts to avoid being burned alive or trapped in the falling wreckage. Scanning the ground he saw a group of Rotiart soldiers approaching with their arms raised, in the lead was an officer Bertram recognized and pointed out to the troops but otherwise said nothing.

"All troops hold your fire on that group! They are surrendering!"

Gnorc soldiers, upon seeing the Hydra grind to a halt and begin burning, turned and started to flee. The Rotiart soldier were hardly any well composed as they too started to run. Tanks in the rear of the formation were able to turn and retreat, soldiers looking for a quick escape grabbed hold of the rails along the sides and heaved themselves up onto the back of the tanks. The few tanks that were in the front of the formation weren't as lucky as the planes still in the air used what remained of their rockets, bombs and cannon ammunition to crater them where they were.

Bertram gazed at the retreating enemy, looked at the surviving soldiers around him, then looked up and saw Spyro and the rest of his group flying above. Even from below, he could see Spyro straining to turn towards Concurrent Skies. He sighed and then turned to his XO.

"Find me a radio and wave the Dracocorps wing down." The Master Sergeant saluted.

"Sir!"

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Spyro gazed longingly at Concurrent Skies. He had never truly liked the place but he was willing to put aside his feelings if the lair of Tomar was there. If Cynder could be saved...

From below, he saw a flare shoot up and saw the Syllian Dracocorps dragons start to descend. Spyro followed and landed roughly amidst the surrendering enemy and Praetorian soldiers. For the first time in a long time, an edge of aggrivation entered his voice.

"Who called the wing down? Why can't we push forward?" Bertram stepped forward and looked at Spyro who had to stop himself from growling at him.

"Spyro...I called you all down here so that I could inform you...that Command has given the green light to the Concurrent Skies attack. We're just supposed to wait for reinforcements first."

"Why must we _wait_?! The enemy is there looking for Tomar's lair! They are possibly bolstering their positions! We must strike now!" Bertram sighed and shook his head.

"We can't. Not without reliable intel. If we charge in now we risk destroying the lair and possible incurring horrendous casualties...That's why I've volunteered for another recon mission, only this time I'll be doing it in my own aircraft. I'll never, _NEVER_, get behind the controls of a bomber again for as long as I live."

Spyro's expression immediately reversed and he became concerned.

"Just make sure you check in with Thera before you do so. You nearly scared the life out of her when word that you'd gone down came through." Bertram laughed uneasily and shrugged.

"That's the risk of being a pilot. Every time I go up there's a chance I may not come down alive." At that moment, the radio came alive and Reyson's voice was heard on the other end.

_"Captain Bertram de Launces, your request for a recon mission over Concurrent Skies has been accepted. Screening force will consist of Syllian 242 Squadron, 101 Squadron, and 333rd Bomber Wing. My wing will also assist with your escort. Now if you are done playing soldier, your plane is back in Warfang as well as your sister. If I were you, I'd encase myself in armor. "_ Bertram grimaced at this and picked up the mic.

"Copy that, one tin can returning to Warfang."

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Ayatane had pursued the enemy plane for a distance as he flew on. He was at full power on the engine and managing to close the distance with him. He was able to get within range and fired a burst. The pilot performed a quick rolling dive and escaped the rounds and dove into the clouds. Not to be out maneuvered or outdone, Ayatane followed.

Blasting through the cloudbank, he managed to catch sight of the enemy plane and fired another burst. He saw the rounds impact the plane but it didn't seem to do any notable damage. Then he exited the clouds and just happened to look to his left and managed to dodge a stream of tracers, cannon rounds, and even a few rockets as he was attacked by a small group of planes with the exact same paint scheme. Ayatane swore vehemontly.

He was surrounded and they were 'guiding' him towards Concurrent Skies.

_(Looks like this guy had the same idea as Command did. They want to see what makes our new planes better than they used to be.)_

As Ayatane contemplated his next move, tracers arced through the air and impacted one of the fighters beside him. Looking back, he felt both relief and worry as Sahne's plane burst through the clouds, guns blazing.

Sahne engaged another enemy plane in the confusion while they were trying to gather their wits and managed to damage the plane's engine. Trailing smoke, the plane dropped and left the fight. At that moment, another plane appeared and moved to engage Sahne. Ayatane knew he wouldn't be able to intercept the enemy in time and prepared for the worst.

Suddenly, a long burst came from the clouds and struck the plane that was attacking Sahne. Ayatane looked at the clouds and saw something unbelievable.

With a roar, a blood-red plane with Damoneni markings burst from the clouds and zoomed by Sahne and engaged yet another Rotiart plane. The plane was hit in the engine and burst into flames as it fell. Doing a roll, the red plane got behind another of the black planes and fired, this time the rounds split the canopy and painted the inside of the plane red and the plane fell away. By this time, the plane that Ayatane had been tailing tried to get behind the red plane and attack but the pilot executed a near perfect vertical flip and fired his guns as the plane passed under him. Ayatane watched as the rounds ripped into the plane and also as a wing broke off and the engine ignited.

Rather than bail out and risk capture, the pilot stayed and burned with his plane as it fell out of the sky. With the fall of their wingleader, the remaining three black planes turned tail and ran. As Ayatane scanned for more enemies, the red plane pulled alongside. He peered at the plane but could not see through the frosted glass cockpit. Ayatane realized what he was looking at.

_(His canopy is a one-way window, he can see out but noone can see in...)_

He also was able to catch a glimpse of the plane's weapons and was shocked at what he saw. The machineguns he recognized as Praetorian .303's, the cannons in the wings were Syllian 20mm, and the two large cannons bolted to the underside of the wings were Rotiart 40mm.

As Sahne fell in on his other wing, the red plane dipped his wings in a salute and then peeled off and headed south. Ayatane radioed to Sahne if she was alright, which she was but still a bit shocked.

_"Hayate...I thought Callinar was the enemy...why did that pilot save us?"_

"I wish I knew. I really wish I knew."

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Okay everybody! Here's the new chapter! Man, talk about your interesting turn of events. Well, you all know the drill by now, please review, follow, fav, PM or whatever you like and I'll respond. Y'all take care now.

Next chapter: The Lost Lair Part 2: Aces High.


	19. The Lost Lair II: Aces High

Gah! I am so B-O-R-E-D! It's election day for the state of Louisiana and I am one of the people selected to oversee the election in my district. Not that I'm complaining I get paid for the job but its just that my district is a rural area and people come in groups of one or two every hour and a half or so.

Still, I guess it's better than the city where there's person after person waiting in line to vote. At least I get the chance to work on the story a bit.

Anyway, onto the update.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 18: The Lost Lair Part 2: Aces High

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To say Bertram felt embarrassed upon returning to Warfang would have been the understatement of the decade. No sooner had he entered the gates of the city than he was bum-rushed by his sister who nearly crushed him in a dragon-sized hug, then gave him a scolding that strongly reminded him of Mother in the sense that Thera's anger was just as intense as hers.

Then things went from embarrassing on a family level to public embarassment when Flame, Ember, and Flaire came up and thanked him for his bravery. Ember had been distraught when Flaire came back and she learned that her daughter was blind. Red gems had healed the cuts and lacerations but her vision remained dark.

Still, that hadn't stopped Flaire from actually hugging Bertram and thanking him for rescuing her. The hug lasted longer than Thera's and got to the point that Flame harrumphed to get his daughter's attention and then politely thanked Bertram for his bravery.

Then Bertram learned that due to his being shot down performing a dangerous assignment he was listed to be awarded the Bronze Shield as well as the Distinguished Service Medal for the following action in assisting the Praetorian forces. Once that was done and his squadron landed, it was time to adress the elephant in the room. He was in Thera's home when he broke the news.

To say Thera snapped is yet another understatement.

"No! No! No! NO! N-O! Bertram, you we thought you were KILLED! Now you're going up again for recon? What are they going to put you in this time? A biplane?" Bertram chuckled and shook his head, trying (unsuccessfully) to play down the danger and appease his irate sister.

"No sis, nothing like that. I already said if I do recon again, I do it in my own plane with plenty of escorts or not at all. Besides, we don't know what the enemy has done in the time I was down. They may have fortified their positions or worse, deployed another of those superweapons. We need to take Concurrent Skies. We need to find the Lair of Tomar."

THAT seemed to shake Thera out of her rage and she looked at her brother worriedly.

"I know...I know how important this is...but...I don't want to be the one to tell Mom and Dad that you were killed trying to find intel on the enemy." Bertram nodded and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I'll make a deal with you. I come back unharmed, I'll ask Reyson to remove my name from the Recon duty list. I'll strictly fly intercept or escort duties. I can't stop flying or resign but I can at least give myself a fighting chance."

Thera looked downcast but nodded. Bertram nodded and then turned to leave just as the door opened and in came an out-of-breath Ryu who was pail as a sheet.

"Uncle Bertram! All Hell's broken loose! Grandfather and Dad didn't wait for reinforcements, they're headed into Concurrent Skies alone!"

Bertram looked at Thera who looked to be ready to either faint or explode into rage again. He nodded to her and then bolted out of the home and to the airfield.

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Spyro and Ignitus managed to break through the gnorc lines. It seems that the Rotarians didn't think Concurrent Skies an important target to warrant their direct intervention but the gnorcs were obviously trying to protect something. Against an army of angry dragons, the fatigued gnorcs broke ranks and routed trying to get out of their way.

The only spot that gave them trouble was the ruins of the old fortress that the gnorcs had tried to rebuild and fortify but wound up creating a mess. They had managed to build up the keep but then their construction efforts fell through, literally. Amidst the ruins, gnorcs using Rotiart rifles, sharpshooters, had taken positions and were firing upon the dragons hoping for a lucky shot on a spot that wasn't protected by their scales.

The sharpshooters were annoying but hardly a hinderance.

Spyro advanced further, using Convexity on anything that moved to stop or intercept him until he came to a cave that the gnorcs were gathering around with all of their remaining forces and looking determined to stop the dragons here and now. Spyro unleashed a Convexity fury that all but destroyed them and cleared the way. He looked back to Ignitus and the others and smiled.

"The Lair of Tomar the Wise. We have finally made it."

The dragons descended into the cave and found more ornate carvings as they ventured father in. One of the earth dragons looked at Spyro and looked around.

"Sir, this cavern is ancient. More so than even the Guardians. I would advise caution as there is no telling what the gnorcs have done here."

"Your advice is noted Graval, and I thank you for it, however, I turst you will alert us if there is any danger of the cave collapsing?" The earth dragon looked at Spyro and shook his head.

"That's what I'm saying. For some reason, I cannot sense the stone around us. It's as if we're not in a cave of stone but something else entirely. I cannot tell if it is structurally sound or not." Spyro nodded and then looked further down.

"I have faith in your abilities Graval, all I ask is a little time to see if this is indeed the Lair of Tomar and not a diversion."

"We should have waited for the humans..."

Spyro wheeled around to the young ice dragon who had said this and growled.

"I cannot wait! Every second my mate grows weaker in that crystal prison! I cannot, I _will not_ leave her like that!" The ice dragon shied back but nodded his understanding.

"I was just saying sir that perhaps the humans would have been able to explore more caves and plus remove any remaining threats we missed."

"They can explore and clear out the enemies _after_ we find the counterspell for whatever curse Gnasty used. I...I've come too far to stop now."

Ignitus shared Spyro's feelings but couldn't help but worry for his father. As they went deeper into the cave, those feelings grew and became more and more worried.

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Bertram had been the first into a plane and the first to take-off and head towards Concurrent Skies. His squadron was in still getting ready when he took off, without permission. He knew he'd catch Hell for it later but right now he was the only fighter fresh and ready to fight.

The only thing that concerned him was that his airspeed indicator and the altimeter didn't seem to work properly. Proof of this was when the ASI went from 406 mph to 125 mph and every few seconds the needle would jump and stick to yet another number. The altimeter was the same way. Still, he was experienced enough to know how high he was and how fast he was going but he felt uneasy going into a possible battle with two of the most important indicators on the fritz but such was the nature of combat.

Things broke.

Things malfunctioned.

He passed the wreckage of the Hydra, the destroyed mole village, and then flew over the rusted remains of the bridge that had been destroyed years ago during the Dalon conflict and noticed the crystals that dotted the landscape. Unlike the weather during the recon bomber mission, storm clouds had gathered and now lightning was arcing from the clouds to the crystals below. Bertram keyed the radio, hoping the rest of the squadron was within range.

"All planes, be on the lookout for hot spots in the storm when you arrive. We've got lightning and thunder but no rain. Watch the crystals if you're near them for clues as to when they will be struck. They glow when they're charging to be struck by lightning."

The radio remained silent and Bertram couldn't help but bite back a curse. Then, he heard another engine and, out of hope, looked towards it he saw a plane but not the one he was expecting.

He saw Dieter Muntz's F10 Interceptor.

Without a second thought, he angled his plane on an intercept trajectory.

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Dieter cursed his rotten luck. Just as he returned to base to report, Mechanos had received word of the destruction of the Hydra and was handing heads out left and right over the radio. This embarrassment made him rethink the value of Concurrent Skies and order a unit in the air to patrol it in case of attack, in a way it was appeasing the gnorcs but in another way it was denying the place to those who had destroyed the Hydra. Thankfully Marks had been in hotter water and had been grounded for shooting a comrade, even if it was 'accidental'.

Wolff had been sewed up and was resting in the infirmary and now with Mark's reassignment he was down two men and felt it. Hearing a plane's engine, he looked out to the side and saw Bertram de Launces' plane coming at him. He keyed the radio, noting the lack of a squadron, and remembering his own recon force in standby just outside the storm.

"Jyne. You're in command of the force here. I have a...personal matter to attend to."

_"Understood Captain."_

Dieter smiled at that. Jyne and the rest of the squadron, the veterans, knew he had a rivalry against Bertram and that he wanted to push himself and Bertram to their respective limits. It was an unspoken code phrase between him and his squadron, when he said a 'personal matter' he meant he'd spotted a potential rival. He pushed the F10's throttle to attack speed and flipped the safety off his guns.

Today there was no Syllia or Rotiart, no 242 Squadron or 215 Squadron. Today, there was just two aces, angling towards each other for a clash that, quite possibly, only one or neither of them would survive.

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Bertram opened fire, his guns sending tracers through the darkening sky. He watched as Dieter rolled and dove to evade the attack. Diving himself, Bertram found himself on the ace's tail and started firing short bursts through his guns. Dieter was hit by a few bursts but managed to evade the majority of them. He then flipped his plane just as he'd done over Retorinc and began firing on Bertram.

In one move, Dieter had moved from in front of Bertram to behind him.

Bertram jerked the flight stick left and right, evading volley after volley from Dieter's guns. The altimeter sprang to life in the free fall and the 'low altitude' light came on. It buzzed for a short time before a round came through the canopy and put a holt through both the light and broke the altimeter (again). In response, Bertram jammed the rudder and rolled the plane just as he saw a crystal before him starting to glow. He dodged just as lightning struck the crystal, sending thousands of violet sparks through the air and the crack of thunder nearly shattered the canopy.

Looking back, he saw Dieter sag a bit as if he was stunned by the blast and he quickly jerked back on the stick, looping around and diving down at Dieter. He pressed the trigger and watched as rounds struck Dieter's left wing. The attack jarred Dieter out of whatever daze he was in because he rolled, dove under a formation of crystals, reemerged on the other side flying straight at Bertram.

Evading this new attack, Bertram dove under the same formation of crystals just as they started to glow and began weaving in and around them, Dieter in hot pursuit of him. The crystals seemed to come alive as he flew in between them, glowing just as he approached and being struck just seconds after he and Dieter passed.

Dieter, not fazed in the least, kept firing short bursts at Bertram as he weaved, aiming for any clear shot he could. Bertram clearly had improved and was not making it easy for him. Something about Bertram's maneuvers though reminded Dieter of a friend of his who'd been killed in the last days of the Callinar Incursion. He pushed his engine harder and tried to close the distance on him so that one burst would decide it.

At the last moment, Bertram foiled Dieter's plan by rolling and diving for the lake they were flying over. Leveling off just thirty feet from the smooth, glassy surface, Bertram pushed his plane to its absolute limit, the engine's torque and RPM gauge was well into the red and he risked overheating his plane and siezing the engine. Dieter was right there behind him, firing at any chance Bertram was giving him but so far Bertram had managed to dodge the worst of it.

That didn't mean his plane wasn't damaged.

His rudder and tail section had some holes from Dieter's cannons. Bertram found himself thanking his Father for self-sealing fuel tanks as he caught a glimpse of a few holes where his internal tanks were. His right wing had holes and one of the secondary flaps had been shot away leaving his controls sluggish. Furthermore, his engine was spewing a thin line of greyish-black smoke from underneath the cowling and he had a thin trail of oil snaking across the nose. Looking back at Dieter's plane, his was in hardly any worse shape. Bertram took a moment to glance at his instruments and the gasped.

On the right side of the ASI was a small dial that indicated how much ammunition he had left. The red light was on and the needle was resting on 175.

Unbeknownst to Bertram, at that same moment, Dieter glanced at his panel and saw the ammunition counter showed 100 rounds left.

Bertram performed another flip and opened fire on Dieter as he passed, his ammo dropped to 60 and he scored some hits on Dieter's damaged left wing. Dieter inverted the plane and split between another formation and looped behind Bertram and fired.

Bertram heard glass shatter as bullets ripped through the canopy, impacting his panel but leaving him unharmed. One round passed close by and nicked his left cheek before blasting through the aiming assist bolted to the front of the plane.

He looked around for Dieter then had a crazy idea.

Bertram's plane had rockets mounted to the underside of the wings. He took aim at one of the crystals and fired all of them. The rockets sailed straight and impacted the crystal. The result was the same a shattering the world's largest mirror with a sledgehammer.

The crystal shattered although 'exploded' would be a more appropriate word and the shards impacted other crystals and set off a chain reaction. These shards shattered other crystals which in turn shattered other crystals. Acting fast, Bertram dove under a falling crystal and soon found Dieter in front of him, closing, guns blazing.

Dieter watched Bertram approach and squeezed the trigger, firing his guns and watching as the ammo count dropped lower. A few bullets hit the propellor but otherwise did nothing. Bertram fired but likewise had the same effect. Both planes rolled to avoid a collision and passed within inches on one another. As they passed, Bertram and Dieter locked eyes.

In Bertram's eyes, there was adrenaline, of course, but also excitement, a touch of fear, and a lot of determination. In Dieter's there was the same as well as a new-found respect as well as approval for the young Syllian pilot.

The planes passed the both pilots pulled back and climbed. Dieter slowed his plane to get in behind Bertram and pulled the trigger, a burst that would have ended him if not for one matter.

The only sound that came from the guns was the rapid '_click click click click'_ of empty guns, snapping Dieter out of his adrenaline-fueled trance. Dieter looked down at the panel and saw all zeroes on the ammo counter and then back at Bertram who had vanished. Checking his rear mirror, he saw Bertram behind him, in the same position he'd been in moments earlier and readied himself to embrace his fate.

He'd done his best. He had no regrets.

A series of loud audible '_clicks_' came from Bertram's plane causing Dieter to look in surprise. Bertram was now flying alongside him, both their planes shot nearly to pieces and trailing smoke. Bertram bleeding from some cuts on his face, the same as Dieter, though his was from broken canopy glass while Bertram had been grazed with a round. Dieter checked his engine and laughed with both relief and excitement. As he turned, he locked eyes with Bertram and was amazed by what happened next.

Bertram saluted him.

Dieter couldn't help but think back to what his mentor had said about pilots being the 'knights of the air' and chuckled, he then nodded and returned the salute. Dieter keyed his radio to transmit his status to the squadron.

"This is Dieter. I am zeroed and pulling out of conflict." The reply was a tone of utter disbelief.

_"U-Understood sir. 215D and 215E will escort you to safety."_

Bertram saw Dieter dip his wings in salute and turn away. At that moment, Bertram picked up the radio.

"This is Paladin. I'm out of ammo and smoking bad. Enemy planes over Concurrent Skies are withdrawing. Any planes copy?" There was silence and then a welcome voice.

_"Hayate copies. Hell of a fight sir, entire squadron saw it."_

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Ignitus grimaced as the storm raged. Even as far into the cave as they were they still could hear the echoes of thunder and feel the effects of it striking the crystals or the ground. Spyro stood before a huge door with arcane symbols etched into it. It wasn't made of stone, nor any type of metal any of the earth dragons had ever seen. He just stood there as if trying to decypher its meaning. Ignitus couldn't help but clench his teeth with a mix of irritation yet also fear and worry.

A moment later, there was a flash in the cave and before him stood the last creature Ignitus ever expected to see, his namesake, the Chronicler, and beside him stood Thera, tired, weary, but triumphant. The Chronicler gave a polite nod to Ignitus and went to stand beside Spyro who looked at him with an exhausted expression.

"You seem iritated young dragon." Spyro nodded but didn;t break his gaze at the door.

"I-I can tell it's some sort of puzzle but...for the life of me I can't figure it out. Most of these arcane symbols are so old even Volteer wouldn't know their meaning..." Ignitus chuckled and looked at him.

"To be honest, Volteer would be just as stumped as you. These glyphs date back to a more savage time. A time when dragon fought and killed dragon to secure food, resources, mates, and other things. You know the history of Tomar? How his eldest brother was murdered by another sibling and how he went in pursuit of him? These glyphs were designed by Tomar himself to prevent such an evil from unlocking the place and gaining his knowledge. This great door to his lair was his last great gift, and riddle, to dragonkind. Only one truly pure of heart and spirit can solve the puzzle here. One who is worthy of Tomar's knowledge and power." Spyro sighed and looked to Ignitus.

"I do not know of such a dragon." The Chronicler looked to Thera and nodded to her.

"You've noticed Thera's incredible Awakening? How she controls crystals and can bend the spirit realm to her will? That is not just the purple dragon blood that flows through her from Malefor, it is also from the child she has within her, the descendant of two purple dragons."

Ignitus heard this and wheeled on Thera, eyes wide and joy radiating from them.

"L-Love...is-is this...?" Thera blushed for a moment and then nodded.

"I-I wanted to tell you once all this was over and Cynder was free..." Chronicler Ignitus smiled and then turned to the door.

"This door uses ancient glyphs known as 'Drakiosphiel' it is an ancient and long forgotten form of writing and enchanting. Thera, allow yourself to open your mind and access the power within not only your blood but the blood of the child within you and the way shall become clear." Chronicler Ignitus then looked to the younger Ignitus.

"Remember that I told you that one of your children will one day save us all from a great calamity? This child is the one I spoke of. The day of the calamity I spoke of is still far, far off and likely most alive in this generation will have long since returned to the Ancestors when it occurs, but that is not here or now."

As the Chronicler spoke, Thera approached the door and focused upon it, heeling the her heart, and the heart of her offspring within her beating as one. Unbidden, the symbols began to change and to merge into forms she recognized.

FOR THOU HAS COME TO LEARN THYSELF _(FOR THOU HAST COME TO LEARN THYSELF)_

TO LEARN THY TRUTHS AND THY BLOOD _(TO LEARN THY TRUTHS AND THY BLOOD)_

TO STOP THE SPARK THAT SHALL SET THE WORLD AFLAME _(TO STOP THE SPARK THAT SHALL SET THE WORLD AFLAME)_

TO KNOW THE NAME OF THY UNDYING FOE _(TO KNOW THE NAME OF THY UNDYING FOE)_

TO END HIS PLOTS AND DESTROY HIS SCHEMES _(TO END HIS PLOTS AND DESTROY HIS SCHEMES)_

THE NAME OF THY GREATEST ENEMY AND THE WORST OF TRAITORS _(THE NAME OF THY GREATEST ENEMY AND THE WORST OF TRAITORS)_

HE IS BLOOD-DRINKER _(HE IS BLOOD-DRINKER)_

HE IS SOUL-EATER _(HE IS SOUL-EATER)_

HE IS KIN-SLAYER _(HE IS KIN-SLAYER)_

HE IS THE ONE WHO HAST BEEN SEALED BUT NOT SLAIN _(HE IS THE ONE WHO HAS BEEN SEALED BUT NOT SLAIN)_

HE IS THE ONE WHO STRIKES DOWN THOSE HE CALLS BROTHER AND DEVOURS THEIR YOUNG _(HE IS THE ONE WHO STRIKES DOWN THOSE HE CALLS 'BROTHER' AND DEVOURS THEIR YOUNG)_

HE IS THE BLACK WYRM _(HE IS THE BLACK WYRM)_

HE IS THE FALLEN KING _(HE IS THE FALLEN KING)_

VEKX _(VEKX)_

Thera felt light-headed for a moment and the glyphs returned to their original forms. Ignitus hastily summoned her book and read the translation aloud and gasped. Nor was he the only one.

Though somewhat intentionally yet unintentionally forgotten, the story of the Fallen King, Vekx the Kin-Slayer, was one of the most horrifying tales of the old age.

Vekx, half-brother to Tomar the Wise and full-blood younger brother to Nevor the Magnificent, killed his elder brother to assume the crown but was exposed and chased down by Tomar. Vekx, cursed by his brother's dying words into a state of living decay, sought several barbaric and monsterous means to end the curse.

It was said the Fallen King did everything from drinking the blood of hatchlings and virgin dragonesses to outright devouring them, all to end the curse he had brought upon himself. Though the story that most dragons know is watered-down to spare the worst of it and to give the happy ending that Vekx was killed, the _true_ story was that by the time Tomar had caught up with Vekx, he had become so corrupt, so twisted, so _evil_ and monsterous that he could not be slain by Tomar alone. Rather, Tomar used all of his strength to seal Vekx at the bottom of Mt. Boyzitbig. Ignitus looked at the door and became serious.

"This lair...it not only holds the key to freeing Cynder...it also holds the key to defeating Vekx should he ever be released...This door was meant to be opened but never again closed. If we open it now, this place must never be abandoned. It...it will be up to the parents of this young one who shall inherit Tomar's powers to guard this place..."

Spyro looked to the Chronicler, then to his son, and then to his daughter-in-law.

"This place...Concurrent Skies...it corrupts even the noblest of dragons. I...I..."

Spyro was drowned out by a soft chanting. He looked up and saw Thera chanting in a language he did not know. Then, he heard several loud bangs and saw the door start to open. He looked at Thera who sighed and nodded.

"My Father once told me, never sacrifice lives without trying your best to save them. If I have to remain here to guard this lair like the dragons of old then that is what I shall do. Cynder is in danger _now_. This Vekx, there is no evidence he has broken free. Save those in danger now rather than regret inaction the rest of your days."

The door to the lair stopped with a shuddering boom and magical torches sprung to life, illuminating a massive circular room with shelves upon shelves of books, scrolls, tomes, grimoires, as well as various magical formulae written wherever there was free space. On a desk was a book and a small crystal that glowed the same color as the crystal Cynder was imprisoned in. Spyro went towards it and Thera, once she looked at the book, translated.

"In all of my studies in crystals this particular type continues to intrigue me. Perhaps it is that inquisitive side of me or perhaps that part about seeking answers in old age really holds truth, but a crystal that can encase a dragon in a living prison is impressive. This crystal not only sustains them for a time but also allows them to hear, see, and smell what is going on around them. Still, there are drawbacks. The crystals are nearly impossible to destroy with brute force and cannot be removed without injuring or killing the dragon or dragoness inside. Thankfully however, I have stumbled upon a solution. There are two types of this crystal, the 'prison' and the 'key'." Thera scanned the notes and found the section.

"The 'key' is a smaller sliver of crystal that, once it touches the 'prison' crystal, the prison shatters, releasing the captured being whole and unharmed. There is a catch however, the key must be held by one who is close to the being entrapped in the crystal. A mate, sibling, lover, something of that nature. As a side note, the crystal shards of the 'prison' can be later ground down or pulverized to create potent medicinal remedies and, if my old friend Volfarss is to be believed (which I _HIGHLY doubt_) can increase the...virility of dragons and dragonesses when used in...'special' alchemical concoctions. The recipies I do know (mainly because I couldn't get him to shut up) but will not deign to write here as they are irrelevent unless the species is forced into an 'extinction scenario'."

Spyro held the small crystal in his paw and felt it vibrate lightly. He turned to the Chrnicler but he was already gone. Ignitus stood by Thera and nodded to Spyro.

"Go to Mom. I'll stay by Thera." Spyro nodded and then looked at them both.

"I'll not leave you alone to be burdened by this. I will make sure that you two are not the only dragons here to guard this place." Ignitus chuckled and looked to his Father.

"I'll hold you to that Dad. Now go, get to Mom."

Spyro nodded and all but flew up through the tunnel, out the cave mouth and made a beeline for Warfang, his heart restored and his hopes high.

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Wow! Alright! Finally got that section done. To be honest, I wanted to write the duel between Dieter and Bertram for a while but didn't have the right setting for it. Now then, what's next for them? Will the 'key' crystal work on Cynder? What does the future hold?

I have no idea, I ain't the Chronicler.

Next time: Knight Takes Pawn.


	20. Knight Takes Pawn

Hello everyone. I hope you all are enjoying the change in weather, I know I sure am. To be honest, I feel that I myself am hot-blooded and thus can't really stand heat yet I can bear the cold.

Oh! I hope y'all enjoyed your All Hallow's Eve celebrations...I know it's technically called Halloween but an old friend of mine from high school I remembered was VERY explicit when referring to holidays. Call a holiday over four-hundred years old by its 'modern' name and you got a brained by a fifteen-hundred page book of random genre or educational value.

Though I got to admit, I DID feel smarter for a while after being hit with that big book of Chemistry. Too bad I never took the class...

Anyway, on with the story. Fair warning, I'll be jumping about on this one as many things happen at the same time.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 19: Knight Takes Pawn

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Spyro thanked the ancestors he caught a tailwind while flying back to Warfang. It allowed him to arrive quicker than anyone imagined and before anything else he dashed off to Thera's home and all but knocked the door off its hinges coming in. His grandkids came in but kept silent, keeping their questions to themselves until Cynder was okay.

Spyro removed the key crystal with nervous claws and looked at it then gazed at the crystal prison that was before him. He felt so tired, so drained physically and mentally that he thought he mumbled something but then pressed the crystal against the prison. The key, for lack of a better term, melted into the crystal prison and caused the prison to give off a muted blue-green light that seemed to lull Spyro into a trance. The odd thing was that he wasn't tired yet his body and mind wanted sleep.

Against his will to stay awake, Spyro felt himself drifting off to sleep as the glow from the prison faded. Had he remained awake, he would have seen the shadow inside the crystal stir, and a large crack split the crystal from top to bottom.

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The first thing she was aware of was a light piercing the darkness. As her eyes adjusted to the light she saw it was caused by a crack in the crystal, not unsimilar to a crack appearing in a hatching egg. The second thing she was aware of was hunger, then thirst, then she felt most of her muscles beginning to cramp as if she'd been standing still for nearly a week.

She stretched her wings, and found the crystal buckled easily and allowed her wings to move. She craned her neck around and felt several joints pop audibly that made her cringe out of reflex. She stretched her forelegs and back legs and felt more of the crystal break away. Cracks began appearing throughout the confining structure as she moved and pieces fell away. She felt more and more light shining down on her and began to feel warmth seep into her from somewhere beside her. She shook her head as if dislodging something stuck to her horns and felt the crystal encasing her head and neck shatter, falling away.

Looking around, she slowly began to remember things. The battle, the beam of light, the fear of whatever had happened to her. She then recognized the home she was in and felt irritated as some clumps of crystal refused to come loose. She swung her tail and sent a rather large chunk of the stuff flying through the air and out a closed window that made a rather sharp noise when it shattered. She heard a muffled grunt from beside her and she looked down, her eyes growing wide at the sight.

There, at Cynder's feet, was Spyro, asleep, snoring, and...drooling. He was sprawled out in an undignified pose, his limbs, tail and wings were splayed out, his neck was also straught and his tongue was out of his mouth as he snored. As she moved and thought of waking him, she began to feel tired and inexplicably lay down beside her mate. Giving him a glance and a smile, she nuzzled him and used a foreclaw to put his tongue back into his mouth before curling up beside him and allowing sleep to take her.

As she dozed, she felt words cometo mind and she tilted her head sleepily to her mate's side and said three words that she had said often enough but, for the first time since they defeated Malefor and the Destroyer all those years ago, these words regained their meaning, their symbolance.

"I love you..."

As her eyes closed in slumber, she saw Spyro give a sleepy smile and a tear fall from his eye.

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Bertram had nearly been beaned in the head by a flying chunk of crystal and wondered what in the world had happened before gazing inside his sister's home and finding Spyro and a freed Cynder wrapped in a peaceful embrace, sleeping together. He gave a silent cheer and turned and immediately groaned at seeing the MPs coming towards him. The first one, a Sergeant First Class, addressed him.

"Captain Bertram de Launces, you are to come with us to Commander Reyson Havvers' office _immediately_." Bertram sighed and knew what this was about but had to ask anyway.

"What are the charges officer?" The second officer pulled a small notepad and read off the charges.

"Offense number one, taking off without permission. Number two, disobeying orders to remain near Warfang until other planes were up. Number three, engaging hostiles without proper authorization. Number four, reckless endangerment and willful destruction of military property. I, uh, _could_ go on sir, but these are the real big ones. If it were just the minors, you'd be thrown into the brig for a while but, fair warning, the Commander's pretty steamed." Bertram nodded and followed them without incident.

He knew Reyson would have gotten hot under the collar about the plane and his taking off without permission but what about the other things?

His unasked questions were soon answered as he stepped into Reyson's office. He immediately noticed Reyson standing by the window overlooking the sunset. Next to him was the base commander, and next to him, stood two officers he did not recognize. Knowing better than to speak unless spoken to, Bertram kept his mouth shut until Reyson turned and went to his desk to sit down. For a moment he was silent until he looked up and locked eyes with Bertram.

"So...this 'key'...did it...?" Bertram nodded.

"Yes, sir. Cynder has been released and is resting comfortably next to Spyro." Reyson let a sigh of relief out and nodded.

"That's good to hear. That's a piece of good news we've been waiting a long time to hear. Now then, the reason I called you in here is not a social one Bertram..." Bertram nodded.

"The MPs said as much. Although I'm willing to think that most of what they said is conjecture...is it?" Reyson opened a folder on his desk and returned his gaze to Bertram.

"Depends on what they said. Before me here is your file, Captain de Launces. You have a...checkered past to say the least. Only with the threat of war looming did you straighten out, lose the arrogant edge to your behavior, and manage to become one of our best pilots. Still...you tend to disregard orders for the sake of personal feelings. So far this hasn't gotten anyone killed but this more recent occurance is something that we cannot overlook and one that I, for all my pull and prestige, cannot sweep under the rug." Bertram remembered how the mechanic had given him no end of grief for the shape of the plane and sighed.

"I take it this is about the plane?" Reyson shook his head.

"It's more than about the damn plane Bertram. You haven't even seen the medical officer yet have you? You're cut up from glass and you're so exhausted you're barely standing. Bertram...I had to make a choice, one that, to be honest I wish I hadn't been put in the position to make but also I find myself forced to do so." Bertram slid the folder over to Bertram and motioned for him to look it over. When Bertram reached the last page of the folder, he saw a large red stamp on the bottom. The word made his breath catch.

"Reyson...I...I'm being _**transferred**_?" Reyson nodded.

"Yes. You are a damn good pilot but to be honest you've attracted way too much attention. Here, look at this." Reyson slid a paper over to Bertram who looked at it and gasped. Reyson nodded.

"The Rotiart government has taken notice of your name, your rank, and the role you played in destroying the Hydra as well as fighting their ace, Dieter Muntz, to a draw over Concurrent Skies. They have placed a bounty on your life and the lives of your wingmen. For the safety of the squadron, and for the morale of the troops, I am transferring the 242 Squadron back to Syllia." Bertram frowned but said nothing. Reyson continued as he looked at his student's downcast expression.

"Now, now, Bertram don't look so downcast. I'm doing this not only for your sake but also for the sake of the squadron. Besides...the squadron is no longer needed here. As of one hour ago, our radio intercept teams decoded a message instructing all Rotiart forces to 'leave the gnorcs in the grave they've dug for themselves'. Mechanos is washing his hands of this disasterous campaign and is pulling back, leaving his 'allies' here to face the brunt of the Avalon and Praetorian forces combined might and wrath. Furthermore, in that same message, we heard orders for Dieter Muntz and his 215 Squadron, or rather, what's left of them, to redeploy to Damoneni." Bertram looked at Reyson and then realized something.

"What about Callinar? What about that red plane Ayatane reported?" Reyson nodded.

"Yes, the so-called 'Crimson Tide' of Callinar. Well, you'll be pleased to know that this pilot is a sort or rogue element within the Callinar forces. Furthermore, Task Force E-15 has succeeded in it's objective. Callinar has been brought to a ceasefire but has not yet surrendered. They are holding strong on the center island of Maritone but they are effectively deadlocked. Turns out the people of Callinar didn't like the sound of this war or its direction and that it was instigated by a group of right-wing political officers." Bertram nodded.

"Furthermore, I'm sure you've realized that your brother is gone. He and his force set out this morning for the coast of Tullinar. He has been designated as Task Force 11 and is ordered to assist the Tullinar United Army in their efforts to liberate their homeland from Damoneni occupation. He is escorting a group of landing ships and aircraft carriers to the southernmost port of Broken Anchor and from there will assist the Tullanar Navy with keeping any Rotiart or Callinar vessels out of the fight." Reyson then produced another folder and set it on the desk and motioned for Bertram. Inside it was a list of names of people he didn't know. When he looked to Reyson he saw a smile on his teacher's face.

"Did you honestly think you were going to be punished just for doing what was right? If that was the case I'd never have made it past Lieutenant." Reyson got up and produced a small box from his coat pocket, opened it, and set it before Bertram. Inside, were two small gold crosses that were to be wore on the lapel of a uniform.

"Bertram de Launces, at the request of the King of Syllia, and at the request of the commanders of the Syllian Royal Air Force, you and the 242 Squadron have been redesignated as the Launces First Wing. You have also been promoted to the rank of Major." At this moment, the unknown officers stepped forward and saluted Bertram. Reyson motioned to these men and introduced them.

"The new face to my far left here is Lieutenant Edward Cutter, he is in command of 'C' Wing of your force. Next to him is Lieutenant Douglas Leere, he will be commanding the 'D' Wing. Ayatane has been promoted and will remain your second in command of 'A' Wing while Jake will command 'B' wing. As Wing Leader, you now have three squadrons under your command." Reyson turned his attention back to the bounty sheet and sighed.

"Your promotion was the King's idea as he figured the more planes you have with you, the less chance of someone shooting you down. Your wing will also be the first to set a new standard of aviation for our forces. I got a look at the Praetorian IAF wings here and was able to come up with new formations and tactics."

Reyson pulled a sheet of paper with diagrams on it and explained everything to Bertram in detail.

"There are four elements in a wing or formation. The 'A' Wing is the first element and is comprised of high speed interceptors, meaning your P-31s. 'B' Wing is made up of 'escort' or twin-engine fighters like the new P-30s. 'C' Wing is made entirely of fighter-bombers like the new P-32s. In 'D' Wing, they will be flying high-speed twin-engine bombers such as the LB-15s." Reyson pointed to each squadron and then drew lines on the paper to show the tactics.

"'A' Wing will fly ahead and engage the enemy, 'B' Wing escorts 'C' and 'D' wings. Once 'D' Wing's mission is completed, they will be escorted out by 'C' Wing while 'A' and 'B' wings mop up enemy air cover. Did you get that?"

Bertram's head was still spinning. He'd understood the explanation clearly and vaguely heard Reyson dismiss him. Once outside, he went to his barracks and saw his squadron, looking confused and wondering what had happened. As Bertram opened his mouth to explain, the door opened and in stepped seven new pilots, including Lieutenant Cutter, who saluted sharply.

"Greetings. I am Lieutenant Edward Cutter, leader of the 422nd Air/Ground Support Squadron. As of today, we have been placed under Major de Launces' command and will be assisting you all as the new 'C' Wing of the Launces First Fighter Wing."

The members of 242 Squadron were already rising in surprise when the next group entered. This group was bigger and Bertram wondered why so many until he recalled the 'D' Wing was light bombers and generally had crews of three or four. Lieutenant Leere came forward and saluted in the same fashion, his thick Northumbrian accent adding weight to his salutations.

"I am Lieutenant Douglas Leere, leader of the 12th Light Attack Bomber Squadron. Along with Lieutenant Cutter, we have been assigned under Major de Launces as 'D' Wing. I...oh, Major, you hadn't told them yet?" Bertram turned to Leere and nodded when all of a sudden the squadron jumped up and started cheering. Ayatane was the first and he clapped Bertram on the back hard enough to make him flinch.

"Bertram! That's great news! So, when's our first mission together? Are we going to assault gnorc and Rotiart positions? Engage in patrol? What?"

That 'what' had been directed when he saw Bertram's face. Ayatane stepped back and allowed his friend to steady himself.

"Ayatane, everyone, we've been...reassigned...we're going home." Jake looked to him and raised an eyebrow.

"Home? What the hell for? Not for doing what we were supposed to do?" Bertram shook his head.

"No, it's not that Jake...the Rotarians...they placed bounties on our heads for destroying the Hydra. In the Syllian equivalent, 242 Squadron has a bounty of over one-million Sovreigns. Cutter's and Leere's wings have been assigned to us as a sort of extra protection and we've been ordered home so that, in the event one of us is lost, we do not hurt the morale of our forces here. On the upside, I'm not the only one promoted. Ayatane, you've been promoted to Captain and have been as my Second for 'A' Wing, and Jake, you're now a First Lieutenant and have been placed in command of 'B' Wing."

Now it was Ayatane's and Jake's turns to be speechless as the rest of the squadron congratulated them.

"Furthermore, expect your new additions once we return home. We've been assigned to Launces and so I expect the new recruits will all be from the Launces Aerial Academy." Sahne nodded and came up beside Ayatane who blushed but otherwise said nothing. Bertram chuckled to himself. By now, the entire base was aware of Sahne's and Ayatane's growing affection for each other. She stopped and turned to Bertram.

"Cap-Er, Major, what about the gnorcs here? Are we still engaged with them?" Bertram eyed both her and Kani and then shook his head.

"No, according to the reports, Callinar is deadlocked meaning that Rotiart and Damoneni cannot send forces to assist the gnorcs. Furthermore, Rotiart is withdrawing from this theatre and leaving the gnorcs to fend for themselves. I suppose it is fair to say that the gnorc's surrender should be official in a few days."

Bertram was nearly deafened by the cheering going on from his squadron, both veterans and new recruits. He had little doubt that, by this time tomorrow, everyone in Warfang will have heard. The Battle for Avalon was over.

Bertram didn't stick around for the celebration however, he returned to Warfang and went to a nearby restaurant, his hand on the piece of paper he had recieved that morning from an out-of-breath wolf who, he had learned, worked for Flame and Ember as a servant.

The message had been from Flaire...

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(meanwhile, over the Western Ocean)

Dieter found himself dozing while listening to the droning noise of the J209's engines. With his beloved F10 shot to hell and forcibly scrapped, he was making the trip to Damoneni on the proverbial 'slow boat to Saiyon'. His squadron, veterans and newly rookies alike, had gone on ahead with their F10s while he went on a transport.

Wolff had already been sent home to recover from his wound, which, due to improper care, had nearly become infected. Wolff had threatened to 'shoot the first sonuvabitch who mentioned 'amputation' or came near him with a painkiller or a bonesaw'. To be quite honest, Dieter had been impressed by the devout man's swearing a blue streak. Given the circumstances, he couldn't blame him.

He nudged the man next to him and motioned for the time. Dieter's pocketwatch, to his regret, had been lost some days ago. The soldier checked his watch and informed him the time was midnight. Dieter did the math and figured they were almost to their destination. He closed his eyes and willed sleep to take him.

He was jostled awake a few seconds later by the same man who had a wide-eyed expression on his face. Dieter looked to the man's uniform and noticed he was from Damoneni. Apparently, one glance at Dieter's face was all the man needed and he motioned to his fellows in the transport with him.

They were all speaking Damonenian.

Dieter nudged a man to his right, an interpretor, if the patch on his sleeve was right, and woke him to ask to translate for him. The man groused but straightened up and listened before gazing incredulously at Dieter. Dieter in turn, looked at the interpretor and scowled.

"Well? What the bloody hell do they want?" The man fidgeted before handing Dieter a pen and paper.

"Your autograph, Captain. Apparently, meeting with the 'Black Knight' of Rotiart is a bit of a...surreal experience for them. Then again, Damoneni seems to revere their pilots due to the incredible and insane training regimen they go through. In...this fellow's words: 'Meeting you is like meeting one of our Generals, it is a rare thing akin to meeting the leader of a nation'." Dieter grunted and then began signing autographs for the soldiers.

_(Anything for morale.)_ Dieter reasoned.

Halfway through he thought of something and smiled in a dark way and turned back to the translator.

"If I ever see that rat of a colonel again, I'll launch a rocket up his ass when he goes to the shitter. He claimed that _this_ was the last plane leaving Avalon." The translator looked to him and shook his head.

"No sir, this isn't the last plane...this was the second to last plane." Dieter looked the man in the eyes and shrugged and went back to signing autographs.

"Oh."

At that time, a fellow in a light blue uniform came up wanting his autograph as well. Dieter looked at the man, recognized the uniform, and paled.

"Aren't _YOU_ supposed to be flying the plane?!" The pilot, likely fresh from training, smiled a goofy smile and nodded as the soldiers around him also paled. He spoke in broken Rotarian with a smidge of Damonenian.

"Meeting Dieter Muntz, Captain...great pleasure."

Dieter was saved when one of the soldiers, an officer, grabbed the pilot by the collar of his uniform and unceremoniously hauled him back to the cockpit, cursing him as he went. Dieter sighed and looked out the window. The tranlator looked to him and tilted his head.

"Looking for something sir?" Dieter chuckled and sat back in his seat.

"Yeah. I'm looking for a herd of flying pigs."

Before the translator could ask what he meant, there was a roar the likes of which Dieter had never heard before. Not a dragon's roar or a griffon's call, it sounded more machine than anything else. Dieter turned and looked out the window and beamed. There in the moonlight, a fighter plane was illuminated. A plane he'd only heard of...

"Well I'll be damned..."

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(back in Warfang)

Bertram checked his watch and checked the clock in the restaurant, ten after midnight. After waiting a little longer, he rose but felt someone push him back down in his chair. Looking over his shoulder, he saw a pinkish-red dragon tail and looking left, he came face to snout with Flaire. Bertram hid his surprise well but Flaire was beaming like a kid in a candy store. Bertram smiled and nodded to the waiter who came over with two menus.

Flaire had a bandage wrapped around her eyes but she managed to find her way to the seat with no problems. Bertram noticed this.

"Flaire...forgive me but...I thought you couldn't see..." Flaire nodded but lay on the opposite side of him.

"True. But, dragons are a _very_ adaptable species. Losing one of our senses doesn't mean it's the end of the world for us. It just means our other senses have to work harder. For instance, finding you, I knew your were half-dragon or rather, you are a _full_-blooded dragon who just chooses his human form. It wasn't difficult for me to find your scent or your aura. I must say, you have a _very_ powerful aura about you...I was wondering...could you shift for me? I'd already ordered a late night dinner for two dragons so you might as well otherwise you and I'll have to carry out leftovers."

Bertram glanced about at the other customers and sighed and then shifted. Naturally some patrons eyed him with shock as he shifted but then settled down rather quickly. He looked at Flaire who was now studying him from beneath her veiled eyes.

"I was right...your aura in human form is supressed...It is much more powerful in your natural form." Bertram chuckled uneasily as he felt his wings twitch. Nearby, he heard a few dragons start chuckling to themselves and a cautious glance confirmed they were chuckling _at_ him.

Bertram's wings, locked in place since the first day he shifted, had grown with his body but the muscles weren't used. Occasionally, his wings would twitch or spasm and that would put pressure on the bones, causing him discomfort, if not outright pain. Bertram wondered if he should tell Flaire this but seeing her, eyes bandaged, he decided against it. He allowed himself to look over the dragoness across from him.

She was, by all standards, beautiful to look at. Her scales were predominantly red but her underbelly was pink. Her spines, horns, and her tailblade were golden in color. Her eyes were the only thing shrouded. Bertram cleared his throat and then asked the question he'd had on his mind since recieving the letter.

"F-Flaire...may I ask why you had a letter sent to me? I, uh, I mean we...we just met." Flaire held herself perfectly still as he said this. She sighed and then looked away.

"My days in the Guard are over...I would never tell my parents or my brother what the Commander said but...he said the only thing I was good for now was finding a mate who'll look past my disability and become a mother...The thing is...all the dragons who had been interested in me before now turn a...blind eye to me...I always heard that someone with a disability can often times find comfort or even love with another with a disability..." Bertram immediately realized what she was saying and sighed.

"I've heard the same thing but...your eyes...they're only a disability if you _allow_ them to be so. My Father told me the same thing about my wings. You can no longer see but that doesn't mean you are useless. Just now you said you could sense me presence and my aura. Perhaps it's because I don't spend too much time in dragon form or that I'm a shapeshifter but I cannot sense auras at all. Heck, I can't even tell one dragon apart from the next from their scent because to me all dragons smell alike." Flaire tilted her head curiously and then sighed.

"You're right I suppose...I'm sorry, it was a stupid idea for me to send a letter..." Bertram stopped her midsentence by resting his paw on top of hers.

"Don't think that. I've always believed that...well...that I'd meet somebody who didn't mind that I was grounded. To be honest, you're the most beautiful dragoness I've ever seen. Growing up in Launces, that's saying something. You're the first female I've ever spoken to who didn't glance at me and walk off in a huff calling insults over her shoulder. I...I just wish I had more time to get to know you..." Flaire went ramrod stiff and eyed him through the bandage.

"What do you mean? Are you going somewhere?" Bertram nodded. Then felt sheepish because she couldn't see the gesture.

"Yeah. Just got word this evening. I've...heh, I was glad for it but now I'm feeling really depressed. I got promoted to Major and assigned an entire wing. The catch is I've been transferred back to Launces; something about the enemy putting a bounty on my head for aiding in the destruction of the Hydra."

Bertram sighed. He'd been looking forward to this but now he was, as he'd said depressed. Here was a dragoness, same age as him, who just said she'd like to get to know him better, essentially, and he was leaving in the morning. Before he said anything else, the food arrived and both he and Flaire ate their meals.

When Bertram had finished, he readied to get up when he saw Flaire doing something. Looking to her, he saw her unfasten something from around her neck and hand it to him.

"This was a necklace my Father gave my Mother when they married. Mom...gave this to me and told me that should I ever find a mate, and he had to leave, this amulet would would always allow me to find him." Bertram looked at the amulet.

It was a gem that seemed to glow with the colors of the rainbow and was held in a gold heart shaped frame which in turn was held by a silver dragon. His paw moving without him aware, he grasped Flaire's paw and the gem shown brighter. Flaire smiled and Berram felt a sense of euphoria wash over him.

"Flaire...the gem became brighter...what-"

"It means we are connected. I still have a few things to do here but once they are done, with the ancestors, and my parents blessings, I'll be coming to Launces." Bertram smiled and held her paw in his. Subconsiously, he felt his tail snake its way under the table and wrap around hers.

"I look forward to that day. Truly I do." Flaire chuckled at that and got up to leave she stopped right next to him and whispered something in his ear that made him blush, then she turned and left. Bertram meanwhile, shifted back into human form and, pulling his ID tags from under his shirt, fastened the amulet around his neck and replaced the tags and the amulet under his shirt.

Stepping outside, he felt a slight chill in the air but soon later, he felt warm. Looking down at the amulet, the gem had changed to a deep red color and was emitting a warmth that seeped through his entire body in seconds. Feeling warm, happy, and also, very tired from the days events, Bertram went back to the barracks to pack his kit and prepare for the long flight tomorrow.

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(3 A.M. City of Arlon, Damoneni Confederacy, 20 miles from Praetorian Imperial Border)

Dieter groused as he stood with his squadron. At the last possible moment, the transport carrying him was diverted on an emergency run to the border where apparently Dieter was needed. He been on the ground long enough to grab a cup of hot coffee and a cold donut from the base's cafeteria before he was rushed out to the landing pad where the CO was waiting.

The CO of the Damoneni base was a mountain of a man who would be cramped even in a bomber. If this guy had indeed been a fighter pilot as the uniform suggested, Dieter allowed himself to remember the metaphor his father had used years ago. For a guy like this to squeeze into a fighter plane would have been like trying to 'squeeze ten pounds of fertilizer into a five pound sack'.

The officer, to his credit, wasn't all fire and brimstone, he could see the looks of exhaustion in the faces of the pilots before him and he made it clear with his opening statement.

"Gentlemen, you have my sympathies but this mission is needed to be done _now_."

The officer pointed to a blackboard near him with a world map tacked to it.

"As of ten P.M. yesterday, Callinar is officially deadlocked by the Syllian Armed Forces and the Gnorc forces in Avalon have apparently surrendered while their leader, Gnasty, and his most loyal forces, have fled to Rotiart. The mission you're about to embark on, from what little I've been told, is of the utmost importance to the war effort. It was scheduled for another week but certain..._'events'_ have forced us to move ahead."

An aide removed the map and posted a map of the Praetorian Empire.

"215 Squadron, you will be escorting a single bomber, across the desert, over the small settlement of Hotashell, and you will be bombing the capital of the Empire, Lavonshire." Dieter looked to the officer with an incredulous look.

"Sir, what the hell are we supposed to do with _one_ bomber?" The officer shrugged.

"To be honest Captain, I don't know. I don't even know what the bomber's target is but, if it's Lavonshire, it's important. Your squadron will also be issued new fighter to be able to keep up with the bomber. According to one of my subordinates, you saw one of the aircraft on your way here Captain." The CO couldn't have gotten a more awake response from Dieter if he'd tossed a bucket of water over him.

"You mean we're flying the-"

At that moment, the hangar doors opened and out came the bomber they were to escort as well as their fighters.

The bomber resembled a toy Dieter had heard of called a 'boomerang' and had no tail, was streamlined, and instead of propellors, it had two openings where fans inside turned. The fighters on the other hand were roughly the same size as the F10 but with one major difference. The cockpit was moved forward, the wings were straight, the tail was split and a large engine with the same rotating fans inside was fitted to the back. Dieter could see the fighter was armed with one cannon in each wing and a strange weapon that resembled a Federation meatgrinder in the nose. The CO pointed to the aircraft and smiled.

"Captain, 215 Squadron, may I present to you, the JFI-1 Jet Interceptor!"

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Whoa backblast! Damn that was a good chapter. I enjoyed rereading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I hope y'all enjoyed it to.

Okay, tech talk for those of you wondering about jets. A jet engine is a series of fans that pull air in the front, mix fuel with the air, compress it, ignite it, and use the expanding air and explosive force to push the aircraft forward. Historically, jet engines had been developed in the late 1920's and early 30's but never accepted until the mid 1940's.

The first prototype jet engine was actually of British design but it was built when Britain never thought there would be another world war. The Germans built jet aircraft such as the legendary Me262 (first flown in 1941), its lesser known brother the He280 (which flew in 1940 by the way), the He162, and even the first jet bombers such as the Ar234, BV155, and the HO-IX.

The British developed jets (primarily the Gloster Meteor 1) in response to Germany's V1 Buzzbombs and V2 missiles.

The jet bomber described is the German HO-IX, the grandfather of the American B2 Spirit Stealth Bomber. The jet fighter described is the He162 'Salamander'.

Well anyway, please review.

Next Chapter: Hellfire


	21. Hellfire

Hey everyone, sorry for the long update. I've been busy trying to save my money so that I can get an XBox One (finally). Funny thing, you know the old saying 'don't put all your eggs in one basket'? Well, I kinda did so now, I've got Fallout 4 (yeah!) but sadly no system to play it on.

No matter, the wait just helps the anticipation. Anyway, on with the story.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 20: Hellfire

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(4 A.M. Arlon Military Airbase, Runway 7W)

Dieter and his squadron was on the runway in their new JFI-1's awaiting the takeoff signal from the control tower. It was something strange, not hearing the familiar pre-flight drone of the F10's prop and engine, instead, there was a steady whine of the jet engine that filled his ears. Another thing to adjust to was the layout of the cockpit.

Dieter's left hand rested firmly on the throttle of the plane while his right hand was on the flight stick, his fingers wedged between the firing trigger for the cannons and the handle. On the dash was the layout of the aircraft's controls, the important gauges: altitude, fuel, speed, ammo, heading, engine revolutions per minute (rpm) were all dead center. To the right was engine temperature, oil temperature, throttle indicator. On his left, within easy reach of his left hand, were a series of switches.

The two topmost switches were labeled 'Wings' and 'Nose' and featured two small number rolls below them. 'Wings' held 300, 'Nose' 350.

_(The individual ammo counters for the weapons.)_ Dieter realized.

Then there were four switches below them labeled 'PFT1', 'SP1', 'SP2', 'SP3'. There were switches and a dial for the plane's radio, as well as the jack that led up to his headset. Lastly there was a switch labeled 'Brakes', self-explanitory, another switch labeled 'AFB', and one last switch that was covered and locked.

This switch was surrounded in a yellow and black caution border, and was bright red in color.

As he looked at these switches, the radio light flashed and an incoming message was transmitted to all planes.

_"Attention 215 Squadron. This is Tower Command, we have a technical officer here to explain the layout of the jets to you. Consider this a...'crash course' in jet avionics."_

Dieter groaned at the bad joke and then listened as the T.O. came on the radio next.

_"215 Squadron, I am sure you have noticed the switches on the left hand side of the plane? Do not touch these switches until you have been instructed in their purpose and use. First and foremost, are your armament switches. Their 'safety' switches in layman's terms."_

Dieter groaned as he explained the obvious.

_(No shit Sherlock...) _The T.O. continued.

_ "The one marked 'Wings' is for the 20mm cannons housed in the wings, the one marked 'Nose' is for the weapon in the nose that Lord Mechanos based off the Tellanian's 'Meatgrinder'. It is a battery-driven, rotary 30mm cannon capable of firing twenty rounds per second."_

Dieter stared at the switch in shock. No AA cannon of that caliber could fire that quickly without shaking the plane apart. Noticing the safety for this weapon was off, he flipped it back on and determined it was a secondary weapon should the wings run out of ammo. The T.O. continued as he did this.

_"Next you will see three switches marked SP1 through 3 and one by it marked PFT1. These are known as 'special' switches that generally arm or disarm special weapons such as rockets, bombs, or drop tanks. At this moment, the ground crews are fitting drop tanks to your planes. Take this opportunity to flip the switches for SP1 to the 'on' position and flip PFT1 to the 'off' position." _There was a pause.

_"Done? Congratulations, you've just switched your plane's fuel tanks from the primary held in the fuselage to the drop tank that is directly under the belly. When this tank is empty, switch it off and it will drop away automatically. Before this however, switch on SP2 and SP3. This will ready the drop tanks on your wings and allow you to maintain flight while you drop the empty tank. Your primary fuel supply should not be used until the return trip from Lavonshire."_

Dieter had listened more than acted and now did as instructed. There was a small '_clang_' as the fuel lines changed.

_"Next is the radio, no explanation needed there I hope? After that there is the switch to control your airbrakes. These will be nessessary when you wish to land as they will act as 'parachutes' to slow you down to a safe speed."_ The T.O. paused, apparently letting what he'd just said sink in.

_"After that, you'll see a switch marked 'AFB'. This is the Afterburner and is, in simplicity, a supercharger for the engine. More fuel is sprayed into the engine resulting in a bigger blast and more thrust. You can keep the Afterburner on for about thirty seconds before you burn through your fuel. Don't use it unless you engage in combat or need a quick getaway."_ Another pause. Dieter was beginning to wonder if the T.O. was out of breath or reading from a prepared briefing order.

_"Lastly, there is a switch marked with a caution border. Do not, I repeat, do NOT flip this switch unless the plane is out of fuel, damaged beyond repair, or suffering severe malfunctions. This is known as an 'Eject' switch. A small charge blasts the canopy off the aircraft and launches you out of the cockpit to safety as the plane crashes."_

Dieter eyed the switch dubiously and wondered how many of his new recruits had actually been tempted to flip the switch. His question was answered when, all of a sudden, the jet on the far left of him, emmited a loud '_BANG!_' and the canopy shot into the air and backwards over the engine. A split second later, the pilot's seat, with the pilot still strapped to it (and screaming bloody murder), shot straight out of the plane. A parachute deployed but the pilot and the seat had a rough landing a mere five yards from the jet which a quick-witted mechanic was now winding down. The PA system kicked in and Dieter heard the T.O.'s voice.

He wasn't very happy.

_"Put that man on report for disobeying my instructions! I said do NOT touch that switch! _(Ahem)_ Captain Muntz, can you complete this mission with one less plane? This mission has to be completed TODAY."_

Dieter keyed his radio.

"This is Knight 1, orders confirmed and we're ready. One man less or not."

He carefully looked back and sighed. Of these pilots, only his second, Jyne, was with him. The rest were all recruits said to be 'hand-picked' by Mechanos personally. Dieter looked back at the pilotless jet and shrugged.

_(I guess even Mechanos has his off days...)_ A second later, Dieter saw the bomber begin to roll down the runway.

_"This is Castle 1, we are rolling. Knights, I hope to see you all up there soon. A Castle without Knights will soon fall or so the Praetorian saying goes."_

"Castle this is Knight, we'll take off as soon as you're clear. Don't want your backblast blowing us off the runway."

_"Castle copies. See you up there."_

The bomber picked up speed frighteningly fast and within moments was angled upwards and soaring away into the pitch black night. Dieter saw the tower lights change from red to green and flipped the radio.

"All Knights, let's ride."

Dieter pushed the throttle of his aircraft to full and felt himself sink back into the seat as it took off. The needle on the speedometer shot past 80. He felt the nose beginning to lift and eased the stick back. Unlike the F10 which responded slowly to such a low takeoff speed, the JFI-1 all but shot straight up and the light touch and Dieter felt his heart go into his throat as the altimeter started soaring up. Frantically, he heard the tower radio him.

_"Captain! Captain! Reduce power on the throttle to 60 percent and ease up on the stick!"_ Dieter grimaced as he struggled to get the aircraft under control before it leveled out. With a sigh of relief he gazed at his altimeter and his eyes went wide with shock.

In the thirty seconds from takeoff, the jet had pushed past the altitude restriction of three hundred feet and now he was coasting at six hundred. A few moments later, the rest of his squadron joined him and, sighting the bomber at fifteen hundred and climbing, turned the jet to the new heading and eased on the stick, alowing it to gently climb to the cruising altitude.

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(4:30 A.M. Warfang Naval Yard)

Bertram looked at the transport vessel and then back to Reyson. He'd been getting ready all morning for a believed flight back but now he was standing before a ship that, by all appearances, was older than his father.

"Are you sure our planes can't fly the distance?" Reyson nodded.

"Unfortunately, while we _do_ have drop tanks for aircraft, your planes are not fitted for the slots to equip them. The planes you've been using are versions for short range aerial combat, not intercontinental flight. Nor could they manage it even _with_ drop tanks. The best bets would be for D Wings twin engine bombers which, at the moment, they do not have. The entire wing will be issued new planes upon reaching Launces." Bertram nodded but still didn't feel relieved.

_(At least we're not going back alone.)_ Bertram gazed at the three ships that were going with them. One was a hospital troop transport that was packed to the bulkheads with wounded soldiers, another was a heavy destroyer, the last was an escort carrier. Plus, the sea lane from Warfang to Sanijo was confirmed as secure with little to no threats from Callinar and Damoneni and Rotiart too far to effectively sever the sea artery.

He turned and saw his sister and her family there with her, including Spyro and Cynder who smiled as he started walking over to them. Thera shifted into human form and grabbed her brother and hugged him. Rather than complain that she was squeezing the life out of him (which she almost was), he smiled and embraced her back.

Hesitantly, they broke the embrace and he stepped back.

"Shall I tell Mom and Dad that they'll see you soon? I assume that with the war over down here you may be dropping by for a visit. I know Dad'll be relieved to see you." Thera nodded, afraid her voice would fail her if she spoke. Bertram reached into his pocket and pulled apiece of paper from it.

"Got this letter this morning. The hospital discharged George and he's resting at home. Thing is, they assigned a nurse to him to act as an assistant for a while." Thera became concerned at that.

"Why for?" Bertram shrugged.

"Don't know. Mom didn't go into any great detail but mentioned he..." Bertram halted and then sighed when his sister's gaze didn't let up.

"The Docs are afraid the blast damaged his hearing. The Armored Corps evaluated him and he barely, just _barely_, passed the radio and audio communication and command test. They say it could be temporary but it could also be permanant. Either way, the Corps has him on Medical Leave until he feels he can take the test again. Normally, the military suspects a disability, they drum you out of the service. I guess George is too good an officer for them to just give up on."

"Or maybe they're afraid of Father?" Bertram chuckled at his sister's joke.

"Perhaps. Although I think they'd be more afraid of Mother since even Dad gets scared of her at times. She doesn't like hearing bad news about her kids. You and me especially. Oh boy...I have a feeling that she's going to lock me in my room the second I come home. First I get shot down, then I get attacked by a Rotiart supertank, and now a bounty big enough to flood the streets of Launces with gold is put on my head...I doubt she'll ever let me leave her sight again." Thera chuckled and looked back to her own children.

"Just deal with it little brother, it's how Mom's are. Trust me on this, I speak from experience." Bertram nodded and then sighed.

"Take care of that little one when he's born...or hatched, however you decide. I have no doubt that once the war's over Mom and Dad will want to attempt to spoil that one as they did with the others." Bertram chuckled at his sister's expression of mock fury as he said that.

"They are _not_ spoiled...they simply have selective hearing sometimes."

"Yeah right, and _I'm _Bill Henny." She gave a wicked smile to that.

"Explains why you've got nearly every male in the city ready to gut you. The word's already spread through the city. 'The daughter of Lord Flame and Lady Ember has pledged herself to Major Bertram de Launces'." Bertram stood dumbstruck as she said that and continued.

"Oh it gets better, there's already a bet going that if you become a Colonel or General by war's end Flaire will have permission to live in Syllia with you but if you do not become Colonel or General _you_ have to live here in Avalon with _her_."

"Oh dear."

"It seems that not all of Syllia's inovations have bettered the lives of Avalon's denizens. It seems that the newspapers and gossip columns travelled here faster than anything else. The two of you were photographed by a wolf reporter looking for a story and _BOY_ did he get one. In his own words: 'It's like something out of a romance book, the soldier called away to war and the beautiful woman vowing to follow him to the ends of the earth'. You can imagine Flame's reaction." Bertram gulped and pointed behind her.

"I don't need to imagine it. I can _see_ it."

Thera turned to see Flaire, looking rather embarrassed, standing beside her older brother who looked like he was two seconds away from bursting out laughing, Ember who was torn between worry for her prospective son in law and pride in her daughter, to Flame who was livid and was allowing wisps of smoke to escape from his nostrils and mouth.

_(Why do I have the feeling I should jump into the sea?)_

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(5 A.M. Over City of Gloster, Central Praetoria)

In the brightening sky, a patrol of Praetorian A205 Interceptors patrolled the skies over the city of Gloster, the largest city bordering the desert and the closest city to the desert oasis town of Hotashell. The A205s were of an older type of fighter, believing that 'pilots should fly and not worry about guns', the IAF had built a two seat fighter with the pilot flying the plane and a gunner manning the dorsal turret which held four .303 caliber machineguns.

They were long outdated but nevertheless used for night patrols close to the desert border. With Hotashell being the only town in the desert (or rather the only town in the desert with a radio and telegraph tower), and Damoneni ever encroaching on Imperial territory, even these obsolete planes were finding purpose.

This particular squadron was known to the citizens of Gloster as 'Gloster's Gladiators' for the way the squadron performed in a probing raid by Damoneni nine years ago (back then they'd been using obsolete biplanes actually known as 'Gladiators', the A204). The name stuck and the squadron had been renamed Gladiator Squadron (which, according to the pilots, sounded a damn sight better than 'Finch Squadron').

As the pilot's watch turned five, he nodded and keyed the radio.

"Gladiator 1 to all planes, just one more hour and we're home free. Good show lads."

The squadron acknowledged the time and continued to fly formation. The dorsal gunner flipped his radio as he gazed toward the east, watching the beginning of the sunrise.

_"Hey Keith? Do me a favor and don't turn for a moment."_ The pilot, Keith, chuckled.

"Watching the sunrise again Edward? You know if you stare at it you'll burn your eyes."

_"Heh, that's only if you stare directly at it once it's risen. In the wee hours of the morning you can observe it in peace. I tell you, being up here, I've never felt more at peace."_

"Not even with your wife?"

_"Honestly? Yes. I admit I grouse about missing her but she's safe in Lavonshire with the baby. Damn...hard to believe he'll be two in a few days."_ Keith chuckled at his gunner and though about his own family bear the Imperial sea port of Anchorage. His son had just turned nineteen and was at the military academy in Lavonshire and his daughter had turned eighteen and was taking medical classes at the Anchorage Medical Academy.

"Take it from me Edward, they grow up too fast. Next thing you know he'll be running about, blabbing the way kids do, then comes school and wanting to 'fit in with the popular kids', then girls, and before you know it they've left the nest."

_"Aye. It's that day I'm dreading more than anything else in the- What the Hell?!"_

That exclamation was directed at the shapes of aircraft coming out of the clouds above them. Six planes, level flight, escorting one large weirdly shaped one. The gunner keyed the radio over.

_"This is Gladiator 1 to Gloster control, do we have any other planes in the air? Any experimental ones?"_

Gloster was known as the proving ground for the IAF. Any planes the IAF were interested in were tested here and pushed to the breaking point and beyond. Sometimes they conducted test flights unannounced.

_"This is Gloster Control. That is a negative, I say again negative. No planes, prototype or otherwise, in the air at this time."_

The sound of the gunner chambering all four guns echoed in the plane as he called out.

_"Tally-ho on the enemy! Seven planes, repeat seven. One bomber, six escorts bearing zero-two-seven, north-northeast, altitude is Angels Twenty. Looks like they're making a run for the capital! I hate to say this but I'll be damned if I know what kind of aircraft they are!"_

"Edward, estimated speed?" There was silence as the gunner did the math, measureing the distance between two stars, Orion Alpha and Prio and the time it took the formation to cross the distance between the two. Then-

_"Bloody hell! That's...that's not possible! By my math they must be soaring at close to five hundred miles per hour! Nothing we have even comes close!"_

"Still, few in number or not, they mean to strike the capital. We can't let _that_ happen now can we?" The pilot then switched the radio over to the squadron frequency.

"Attention flight! Seven enemies at Angels Twenty, north-northeast, estimate speed at five-zero-zero. They're heading for the capital. All planes, break formation, lead them and engage! God Save the Empress!"

The flight of A205s broke formation and began rapidly climbing, all the while down below air raid sirens were going off as pilots at Gloster Airfield scrambled to their planes. As Gladiator Squadron closed with the aircraft, Keith could see markings he recognized on the planes.

"Attention, Gloster control! Planes have been nationally identified. Rotiart, First Special Air Wing, looks like...215 Squadron. Bomber is likewise Rotarian but has no identifiable markings. Edward! Your my gunner so do me a favor, don't miss!"

_"I never miss."_

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(5:10 A.M. Over Gloster)

Dieter looked out and cursed as he saw a group of planes climbing to meet them.

"Knight 1 to all planes, enemy patrol squadron has spooted us and is engaging. Castle, climb to maximum altitude and await our return. They are flying old A205s, this shouldn't take long."

_"Castle copies. Give 'em hell Knights!"_

Dieter looked at the fuel gauge and changed the fuel lines to the wings and heard the now empty belly tank fall away. Likewise he saw his squadron doing the same. He then rolled the plane, pushed the throttle to full power, and felt the same feeling of being pushed back into his seat as the jet fighter moved towards the enemy planes.

Apparently, the speed of a jet fighter offered more advantages than just being quicker across the skies. Dieter closed with the enemy planes so fast that if he'd have blinked, he'd have missed them whizzing by. Instead, he pulled the trigger handle back and felt the two cannons in the wings go off.

Tracers zoomed across the predawn sky and slammed into one of the planes on the outer edge of the formation. A two second burst, and the plane's thinly armored fuselage was billowing smoke and burning as it fell. The dorsal gunner was dead, obvious due to the interior of the turret was now blood red and was shattered.

As it fell, the A205's damaged right wing broke free and allowed the unstable plane to begin spinning. His other planes also noted kills and Dieter saw, out of the seven planes that had engaged the squadron, three were still flying; their gunners blazing away in a futile attempt to lead the jets.

As he rolled and began to turn, his radio came alive with a yell.

_"This is Knight 5, I've been hit! That lead plane, they know what they're doing! Damn! fuel's leaking, oil's leaking, got no choice. Take care all, for all the speed this aircraft has and armament, it ain't armored worth a tinker's damn! I'm bailing out!"_

For the first time Dieter was seeing how an ejection seat worked when it was supposed to. Knight 5's canopy launched up and over the tail section, then out came the seat and pilot who cleared the tail just as the oil and fuel mixture reached the engine, causing the jet to explode in a brilliant flash. A parachute deployed and the pilot started swaying gently in the breeze as he descended.

_(Better a prisoner than a corpse...)_ Dieter thought to himself. It was a hard fact of war, some men would rather die than be taken prisoner but the ones who got taken prisoner were the ones most thankful for their lives. Prisoners, at war's end, can return to their loved ones. Corpses just get laid to rest.

Dieter turned the jet around and prepared to pursue the remaining planes when the radio came alive again.

_"This is Castle, all Knights, disengage and regroup, I say again disengage the enemy and regroup, we're already way ahead of you, hit the afterburner and lose them, they can't catch up."_

"Knight 1 copies." It chafed Dieter, running from a fight and leaving a comrade unavenged but, for this mission, honor was a secondary goal. The mission came first, the objective came first, all other things were secondary.

At least, that's what his training had always said. Still...

"All Knights...regroup with Castle. Engage afterburners."

Dieter reached down to the panel and flipped the switch for the afterburners and heard the engine's whine grow louder. With a loud 'BOOM' that nearly shook him out of his seat, the jet rocketted forward and was soon out of sight of the Praetorian fighters.

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(5: 20 A.M. Over Gloster)

Keith could hardly believe his eyes. One moment the enemy planes were there and then the next they had shot off into the clouds and were gone. Still, what he'd seen amazed him; the enemy had taken out four of his planes in a single sweep. He keyed the radio and spoke words no Praetorian pilot, hell, no Praetorian citizen wanted to say.

"This is Gladiator 1 to Gloster Control. Alert Lavonshire, enemy formation minus one is inbound to their proximity. I don't know what kind of damage they plan to do with one bomber but regardless, it cannot be allowed to happen. Also, see about sending a patrol to the fellow that my gunner shot down. I think he landed in the Dawson River, or somewhere thereabouts."

No reply came over the radio directly but a flash came across the standard transmitter.

_"Alert Code Red! Alert Code Red! Enemy has breached outer defences and is heading for Home. Repeat: Enemy formation is heading for Home. Lavonshire under threat from Rotarian Air Force! ETA: thirty minutes!"_

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(5: 40 A.M. On Board Royal Navy Transport Ship _RNV Falsomn_)

Bertram couldn't help but stare at the rapidly fading shoreline of Avalon as the ship sailed on. He kept thinking about Flaire, and about what Flame and Ember had said to him before he departed.

Needless to say he had no plans whatsoever of making them angry.

Once Flame had found out the rumors already flying about were completely unfounded he had relaxed and then to told Bertram that he honestly had no problem with him and Flaire getting to know each other. He had been livid because he'd just been told that the dragon who had previously been interested in Flaire as a mate broke everything off citing that a blind dragoness would be a sorry excuse for a mother.

He'd personally gone and ripped the bastard a new one.

He had later come to the docks fully intending todo the same to Bertram but stopped when he saw how Flaire looked at him.

_'As long as you accept Flaire for who she is, you will have no problems from me. Hurt her, betray her in any way, shape, or form and soldier, Syllian noble, or not, I'll roast you.'_

Bertram had responded that, he had no qualms about Flaire. She did not seem to mind that he couldn't fly except as a human fighter pilot and that seemed to pacify Flame.

As he stood on the aft castle of the trasport ship, he heard laughter from the deck. Looking down, he saw Ayatane and Sahne embracing and kissing. He thought about yelling down at them to 'get a room' but decided against it. They'd found love through their fear in combat and their worries over their friends and he had no wish to spoil their moments.

Turning, he found Jake speaking to some of the new faces in the wing. As he neared and overheard them, he found, much to his chagrin, Jake was telling them about some if the 'mishaps' that he, Jake, and Ayatane had had during their training.

The current mishap was the one about learning to dive bomb a stationary target. While Jake and Ayatane had been spot on wth their paint-filled 'bombs', Bertram had been off and somehow divebombed the officer's latrine. The paint had then broke through the roof, splashed down inside ad seconds later, out had come a very irate (and blue painted) Reyson Havvers.

Upon entering, the group snapped to attention but he waved his hand in dismissal.

"That mishap is all well and good Jake, but do you remember the time during training that you Dad locked you out of the controls of the trainer and took you for a wild ride through Launces?" Jake went red and gulped audibly as the rest of the wing listened in.

"Yeah, Reyson was training Jake in the old twin seater P6 and locked his controls. I was on the ground and I could hear him screaming to the high heavens to 'stop looping the loops and buzzing the town'. Reyson listened but only after he performed a barrel roll in between the castle towers and did a little barnstorming. Jake was pale as a sheet and decided from then on to use only twin-engine aircraft."

A few good-natured guffaws and laughs echoed as some of them patted Jake on the back.

With the tension broken, the wing settled in and started swapping stories back and forth.

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(5: 55 A.M. Skies Over Lavonshire, Captial of Praetorian Empire)

Dieter checked his fuel gauge for the sixth time since the battle over Gloster. He couldn't place it but he felt that something was wrong. The needle had not budged since coming to rest on the half tank mark. Still flying on his wing-mounted drop tanks, he seriously considered switching back to his primary.

Cautiously, he tapped the fuel gauge to ensure it simply wasn't stuck and then radioed the bomber.

"Knight 1 to Castle. I seem to have some sort of malfunction on my gauges. How much farther until we reach the target?"

_"Castle to all Knights, we have reached the outskirts of Lavonshire. In a few moments, we will drop our ordnance over the target as listed to us by our sealed orders. Please assume defensive formation around the bomber until we can confirm our orders and arm the bombs."_

Dieter eyed the bomber when he heard that. Sealed orders were usually given for top secret missions. Plus, bombs were usually armed on the ground, not in midair...instead of feeling relief that the mission was over, he now felt even more distressed. Regardless, he moved into the defensive position near the bomber's cockpit and passed the time by either scanning the clouds for enemies and gazing into the cockpit to see what the bomber crew was doing. For a few minutes, all was calm until-

_"This is Castle. Sealed orders are: Beta-Nero-Seven-Seven-Two-Zero-Zero-Alpha. Orders confirmed, target in range in T-minus thirty seconds. Opening bomb bay doors. Attention, all escorts, upon dropping the bombs, all planes engage afterburners and come to course zero-seven-two North-Northeast."_

Dieter could see the doors open on the bomber and then, on a lark, checked his altitude.

Twenty-six thousand feet.

Dieter hurriedly checked his oxygen mask and made sure enough air was reaching him. Like any pilot experienced enough, he had subconciously put it on as soon as he climbed above the Fifteen-thousand foot ceiling. Still, most bombers dropped their payloads much closer to the ground. That was part of what made being a bomber crew so dangerous.

_"This is Castle, ordnance is armed. Starting chronometer. Bombs away."_

Following his orders, Dieter wheeled the fighter around and engaged the afterburner.

_"Castle here, we are ten seconds from target and opening. Chronometer counts fifteen seconds to detonation."_

Dieter glanced at the watch he had borrowed from Jyne before they took off. The time was 5:59 A.M. Fifteen seconds till 6.

_"Detonation in ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Impact!"_

The first thing Dieter was aware of was a bright flash that seemed to blind him momentarily, followed by a gigantic explosion, an even bigger shockwave that scared him into thinking the plane was coming apart. A few seconds later he risked looking back and saw a dark cloud rising from the ground.

_"This is Castle to all Knights. Confirming successful deployment and detonation of all four Ragnarok-class atomic bombs. Target list is as follows: Ragnarok 1: Praetorian Imperial Military Academy. Ragnarok 2: Upper Loch Lavon Flood Dam. Ragnarok 3: Grand Imperial Cathedral. Ragnarok 4: Castle Lavonshire."_

Dieter's mouth dropped and he heard Jyne swear as the crew listed the targets. The Imperial Military Academy was a school for promising young citizens who wished to become officers in the Imperial Armed Forces. The Loch Lavon Dam was the only thing keeping Loch Lavon from flooding the Lower Quarters of the Imperial Capital. The Grand Imperial Cathedral was the religious center for the entire Empire.

Dieter paled as he recalled the day: 11 Generous...All Saint's Day.

The Cathedral would have been filled with close to sixteen thousand worshippers including some of the highest ranking members of the clergy. Worst of all, Castle Lavonshire.

The home of the Imperial Family. The Empress, Miranda the Eighth, her grandmother, the previous Empress, her brother and sister, all of them...

Though he oftentimes said he was not a very religious person, Dieter clenched his hands together, turned off his radio, and prayed, or rather, _begged_ for forgiveness for what he had unwittingly allowed to happen before him.

The prayer didn't dissolve the anguish he felt in his heart. He wondered what Wolff would say when he learned of this...what would the rest of the squadron, _his_ squadron, think?

He knew the answer as surely as the four black mushroom clouds pierced the heavens.

Bowing his head, Dieter Muntz, the Black Knight of Rotiart, wept.

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(6:15 A.M. On Board _RNV Falsomn_)

Bertram was rudely shaken awake by Ayatane who had barged into his room unannounced. He bit back the retort when he saw Ayatane's pale expression and followed the mute gesture without hesitation.

Throughout the halls, Bertram saw men on their knees, weeping and praying. He caught a snatch or two of a prayer for loved ones or for those innocents lost. He was confused as Ayatane led him into the ship's radio room where Jake was. Nearby were members of the squadron also looking either fearful or worried or curious as to what had happened.

Jake turned on the radio and adjusted it to the Praetorian frequency used by international news, the IBCS.

_"Ladies and Gentlemen, we...we have more on that story we aired just moments ago...My God...We have confirmed reports of...of bombs, unknown in nature, being dropped upon the Capital city of Lavonshire here in the Heartland of the Empire. The bombs, upon detonation, destroyed various sections of the city and have caused unbelievable amounts of damage everywhere. Th-There are people being dragged from the rubble of houses with burns covering most of their bodies, mostly civilians...The Lower Quarters of the City are being evacuated due to the flooding that has resulted from the destruction of Loch Lavon Dam in the attack. H-Hold on we...please stand by..."_

Bertram looked around and saw the entire squadron and even some sailors peeking in now focused on the radio with undivided attention.

_"We have more reports coming in...The attack was confirmed to be led by units of the Rotiart Air Aggressor Force...Oh no...I-I don't know how to say this...Buildings destroyed include the Grand Imperial Cathedral, the Imperial Military Academy...estimated are close to forty-thousand dead, wounded, or missing...I...I have just been handed a report...Castle Lavonshire is gone...We have confirmed reports that...Empress Miranda the Eighth...is dead. The bodies of the Imperial Family have been found in the wreckage of Castle Lavonshire...It...It appears the search is being called off for some...reason...th-the rescuers! The people who have been pulling people from the rubble of the city are dropping dead! We-We've been ordered for our own safety to fall back. We'll try to keep all of you in the loop as we learn more...God help us...God help us all..."_

Bertram looked around at his wing and then heard someone collapse outside. He turned to see Miller lean against the wall, pale as a ghost and the Mitchell brothers weren't too much better. For a moment, all was silent as what had happened sank in. A moment later-

_"Major Bertram de Launces and all members of the First Launces Air Wing, prepare to transfer to the escort carrier Neosho. Planes are being fueled and fitted with drop tanks for your flight to Sanijo. The stalemate in Tellanos has been broken and Rotiart forces have taken Retorinc and are now advancing on Chamberlain. You have been ordered by Archduke James de Launces to fly to Sanijo, take whatever planes are available, and fly to Chamberlain."_ Bertram turned to the rest of the wing, all of whom had solumn expressions on their faces.

"First Air Wing, we have our orders."

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Sorry about the afterwords, too tired to think straight. BTW, the Praetorian A205 is based upon the British 'Skua' Interceptor.

Please review.


	22. Hearts of Iron Part 1

Hey everyone, I'm back again with another update. Man, is it just me or are political races getting dirtier and dirtier each year? I mean seriously, the people running for political offices are slinging mud at everyone who's running against them and even some people that are not.

To be honest, just once I'd like to see a good honest election where no one tried to slap their opponent's face with cowpie...blasted muckrakers. Don't these people know that everyone has their plus and minus sides? Like the Bible says, 'Let he who is without Sin cast the first stone'.

Then again, like the old saying goes, 'Show me an honest politician and I'll show you a vegitarian alligator'.

Oh well, I'm probably rambling again. On with the show.

P.S. For my readers in France and in Europe, my prayers are with you in this time. As a citizen of Louisiana and the United States as a whole, I too have been wounded by the attacks on Paris. Again, my prayers are with you all.

Also, I shall be listing the fictional designations for several aircraft in this chapter. To see their real world counterparts, please read the updated World Fury Tech Guide.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 21: Hearts of Iron Part 1

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All along the way back to Sanijo, Bertram and the rest of his wing said nothing. He kept the radio on and listened for any mention of the enemy attacks that had befallen Praetoria and also listened for anything his own command might say about it. There had been one or two communications from his father on the matter but nothing else.

Syllia _was_ sending aid, that much was certain, as was Espan and Anozira. In fact, Anozira had been the first nation on the scene of the disaster. The Anoziran tricolor soared high next to the banner of Praetoria marking the locations of medical and aid camps in and around the ruined city. While on the carrier preparing to sortie, Bertram had summoned Miller and the Mitchell brothers to the Officer's Mess where he told them that, if they wished to do so, he would sign their papers, relieving them of Syllian duty to go home to their families.

Much to his surprise and pride, they declined the offer.

_'Generous it is of you Major but to be honest, it'll be some time before Anozira, Espan, and Praetoria get back on their feet and can properly give the Rotarians the thrashing they deserve for this. While we're with you, we may just get first crack as these __**meurtriers**__.'_ Was what Miller had said. True to his Anoziran upbringing, he had little liking for dishonorable tactics and even less so for people who willingly targeted civilians.

The Mitchells had said pretty much the same thing, only in much more _colorful_ tones of voice.

Regardless, it seemed that 242 Squadron was to stay together after all.

Having taken off from the carrier with extended fuel tanks and permission to use the Grottos Island base to refuel if needed, the First Launces Aerial Wing made near record time in getting to Sanijo Naval Air Field.

Although it had been months since last seeing the city and the port, evidence of the fateful attack that had happened here still hung everywhere. The wreck of the battleship _Prince Obël_ remained where she had sunk level, his superstructures had been cut down as partof a salvage operation and now fuel trickled to the surface a few drops at a time. The runways at the airfield were stained with the chemicals that had been used to put our fires, as well as stained with oil, fuel, and even blood.

There was a tension in the air that made Bertram's skin itch. His dragon senses could see the look of worry in everyone's eyes, he could sense their fear, he could even go so far as to say he _smelled_ their anxiety. The base commander, upon seeing the Wing land, hurried them into the mess hall to get some food and coffee into them while their planes were finished getting fueled and armed.

Once they were summoned to the hagars for their planes however, Bertram and the rest of his squadron stared at planes that were neither Syllian in design nor in markings and coloring. Instead, the markings and design were obviously Tellanian. Upon seeing Bertram's confused expression, the Base Commander explained.

"Currently there are new aircraft in the experimental stage and those modern planes we _do_ have are already deployed over there. These planes were built by the Marks Brothers at the direct order of the Federal Council in Exile. They are, by far, the most up to date and high tech planes built by the Federation. Plus, with the way the Rotarian forces are gunning for you, believing you are a wing of Federation aces might tone down the heat a little bit. According to the reports, Mechanos has ordered and entire wing of these new 'jets' to Tellanos with orders to intercept you and shoot you down should you get anywhere near the front lines. Thankfully, aside from the light bombers going to D Wing, these latest fighters may not be able to outrun the jets but they can sure as hell out maneuver them."

Bertram listened as the Base Commander explained the new planes and their abilities. First was the A Wing planes, the PF32-C1, the latest Federal Interceptor. Armed with only two cannons, it was faster than the P-31s and also able to turn on a dime.

Then there was B Wing. They were assigned the PFB33-A4, a two seat fighter/bomber with incredible firepower and speed to match.

Next was C Wing using (in Bertram's mind) an aircraft the was the personification of ugliness. Yet he quickly reevaluated that decision when the Commander told him about the defences on the plane and how a pilot managed to get the plane back to base with half a wing and tail missing. This aircraft was the Federation's apparent pride and joy, the PF32-E1.

Lastly was D Wing. Now _this _ aircraft looked Syllian designed (and in fact is _was_) but it bore Tellanos markings, the PHB32-408C1. Upon closer inspection, Bertram was shocked to see a 75mm cannon sticking out of the nose of the aircraft and arrayed around it were various versions of the Federation's GG1 'Meatgrinders'. He could see the men of D Wing apparently eager to get into one of these behemoths and do some real damage to the enemy.

They didn't have to wait long.

As soon as the crews were assigned and the final checks complete, the First Air Wing was given clearance for takeoff on all runways. Bertram and A Wing took the lead, flying a Combat Air Patrol or CAP until B Wing was up. Then C and D Wings were up and they adopted a large diamond formation for flying to Tellanos. A Wing took the lead with B and C Wings to the left and right and D Wing to the rear.

As Sanijo rapidly vanished in the early morning fog, Bertram vaguely wondered how long it would be until he was able to see his home, his family again. He touched the locket that Flaire had given to him before he left Warfang and silently prayed that he would live to come home.

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(Meanwhile, in Royalis, the Capital of Syllia)

James stood at his position in the Royal Council, silently wishing he'd taken Lysa's advice about bringing a bottle of medicine to help stop the headache he was rapidly getting due to each and every Lord and Lady shouting their fellow's ears off and trying to raise their voices to the high heavens above. He silently gazed at Eddy and wondered how he was taking the news. He gazed past Eddy to the empty throne where his wife, the Queen, would normally sit but she'd locked herself in her private chambers upon hearing the news.

Her bodyguards, who were also Praetorian, shared her plight and her grief.

Across from the Noble Council was the Military Council, all of whom were respectfully silent.

_(Or perhaps they're trying to figure out how best to handle and resolve the situation before it gets too out of hand...what am I thinking? Diplomacy went out the window when those bombs detonated...Still...how could Mechanos have...)_

He heard someone on the noble council speaking about forming a treatise, a ceasefire, with Rotiart.

If James had thought the room was loud before, well, he might just have to leave the room and find a bottle of headache medicine after all. He didn't however because as Archduke he was the King's Right Hand in all political matters. To leave in the middle of a rant, even one that went absolutely nowhere, was symbolically meaning that the King didn't give a damn about the current situation. Instead, he nodded to the official by him who heavily banged the ceremonial 'Staff of Law' on the wooden block under it while simultaniously shouting to regain order and decorum in the Council Chambers. James looked to the King and saw the barest hint of a nod, giving him permission to step forward to address the council and also give voice to the King and Queen's wishes.

"My Lords and Ladies and Generals of the Royal Military, it goes without saying that a ceasefire now would simply not be possible nor would it be the best time. Our ally, Praetoria, is reeling from an attack on their capital city. An attack which, may I remind you, cost them the lives of not only their Empress and the Imperial bloodline, but also robbed them of some of the best and brightest young men and women the Empire had ever produced. To speak of a ceasefire now is to say that we do not care of the state of our closest and dearest ally ad to follow up on such a thing risks jeopardizing our alliances with Espan, Anozira, Nevora, as well as our trade agreements with Schildhaven."

_That_ got their attention. All known human nations, with the exception of Rotiart, were once part of the Praetorian Empire at some point in their histories. To deny Praetoria was to deny their heritage and their history and all of Syllia's allies were still loyal to the Empire, even though they no longer flew the Imperial Banner.

"Furthermore, Mechanos and Rotiart have shown that, no matter who faces them, ceasefire or not, they are subject to destruction. I recieved a report from an officer in the Avalon Campaign a few days ago stating that an officer of the Rotarian Empire they captured divulged that Mechanos plans to resurrect the ancient Rotarian Empire. It is a fair assumption that this invasion of Tellanos and now their new offensive there is aimed toward that goal."

There was murmuring amongst the Councils as he said this, some were in disbelief, some were appalled, most were frightened.

Most of the treatises of war the human nations followed were written in part due to the countless atrocities commited by the ancient Rotarian Empire in the bygone era. The Empire was founded on the idea that men in power ruled over the weak with an iron fist. You crossed them, you could be killed or worse, enslaved.

The common saying had been the Empire was founded in a sea of blood and supported on the backs of the enslaved.

A return to those days, even in this modern era, meant nothing but ill to everyone in the chamber.

James heard someone in the distance ask how Mechanos could have devised such a weapon. He sighed and then withdrew an old transcript that had been typed up during the last days of the Dalon Conflict many years ago.

"To answer that question, as you all know in the days following the destruction of the _Poseidon_, we sent several underwater diving teams to try to locate the Uranium Bomb Dalon had made but never used. For two weeks we sent divers down there but always the same result: nothing. I have here, a report filed the day the war ended from the _RNV Arkibus_, the dragoncarrier that was sunk in the last hours of the conflict."

He began to read the document aloud.

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EMERGENCY TRANSMISSION FROM DCV RNV ARKIBUS:

TO ALL VESSELS OF THE UNITED FLEET.

HAVE ENCOUNTERED UNKNOWN SUBMARINE BEARING 045. ESCORTS HAVE ENGAGED BUT HAVE NOT DETERMINED IF SUB WAS SUNK. ENGINE CONFIRMED TO HAVE BEEN OF A FOUR-SCREW DESIGN.

SONAR DETECTS TORPEDOES FIRED. SHIP HAS BEEN HIT.

CAPTAIN HAS GIVEN THE ORDER: ABANDON SHIP.

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There was silence in the room as James finished reading the missive. He held it aloft for all to see.

"The radioman who sent this message was one of the casualties of the sinking. He stayed at his post transmitting until the power went out, the room flooded, and he drowned. I firmly believe this sub was part of a covert salvage operation to recover Dalon's Uranium bomb before we could. They scattered enough debris around to make us think the bomb had come apart and that the tide had swept the radioactive material out to sea. An agent we planted in Rotiart, one who, regrettably, is now deceased, sent us this information some months ago and has only just now come to light. These photograghs depict a large submarine, bigger than anything we ever though possible to build, in a special made dock in the Rotarian port of Rum Cove. The sub pictured was currently in the process of being 'decontaminated' due to 'exposure to dangerous materials'."

James then produced photos from a folder that an aide held for him.

"Furthermore, it appears that there are at least two more subs of this type and size under construction however, these photos do not disclose the location of the shipyard, only that it refers to the facility as 'Number 17'."

As James handed the photos to be handed around to the council members, James took a deep breath, bracing himself for what had to be said next.

"Reports indicate that a large submarine, this same one, has been seen by a number of Tellanian fishing boats loyal to the Resistance lurking in the sea lanes between Grand Vista and Damoneni, preventing Schildhaven from sending direct supplies to Praetoria and cutting off an attempt to flank Rotiart. If Mechanos gets any more of these monstrocities underway we could face the threat of losing not only our sea lanes but our trade routes as well. Without maritime trade, our economy will suffer a breakdown worse than what the Praetorian economy has. In short, those of you who have funds tied up in the Merchant Marines, and those of you who have invested in shipping companies and own sea lanes, stand to lose everything if these subs sail."

Upon realizing what this meant many of the councilors clamored for more of a naval presense around certain sea lanes, in particular those that were used by ships that they themselves owned. Another glance at the Chamberlain got their attention as the King rose. Eddy looked dire and pale as he weighed his options. Pale not only for the fact he'd been sick this past week but also that he'd fretted the night before about what to do.

"There is a much more dire situation at present than shipping lanes and giant submarines. The Praetorian Empire is now without a ruler for the first time since the days of the Imperial Civil War. As I understand it there are two faction vying to fill the gap left by the Empress' passing. One faction follows the traditionalists in keeping peace treaties and alliances intact while another more radical branch seeks to build up a military and begin an expansionist movement as an effort to stabilize their reeling nation."

Eddy looked at James who was confused as to what his cousin meant by this. This was one thing that Eddy hadn't told him when he arrived in the Capital this morning.

"This morning, a letter was sent to us from the Traditionalists. Unless something is done soon, the Radicals will sieze power and withdraw all the support they've given to the war effort and wait for us to wear ourselves out. To that end, they...they want Anita to return to Lavonshire and take up the mantle of Empress."

The Council went dead silent for a moment. Not a work was spoken, no one even so much as breathed. James turned to his cousin, his face marked with worry.

"Edward," he began, ignoring all pretenses, "you know what this means...don't you?"

Eddy sighed and sat back in the throne.

"Yes, I do. If Anita accepts this...my marriage to her will be annulled. The thing is...I love her...I cannot and will not annull the marriage vows we made to each other. Besides...she found out a few days ago that she's...in a delicate condition...I cannot leave her now..." One of the Councilors cleared his throat and stood.

"Your Majesty, we all grieve for the Praetorian Empress and we sympathize with the Queen, truly we do, but you have not a choice in the matter, if she goes the marriage must be-" Edward shot from the throne, fire in his eyes as he glared down the councilor.

"No! I shall not! I _will_ not! If...if she decides to go to Lavonshire...then..."

James found himself growing incredulous at what Edward was doing. If the Queen decided to become Empress of Praetoria and Edward didn't annull the marriage then-

"If she goes to Lavonshire then I shall abdicate! I shall surrender the throne of Syllia and my name as King of Syllia!"

James no longer felt a headache. Instead he suddenly felt the urge to find a castle servant and get them to bring him a bottle of strong alcohol. The civilian and military councils were in an uproar.

At that moment, the door to the far side of the council chambers opened and in stepped Queen Anita, letter in hand, tears in her eyes.

"My love, Edward, I heard every word that you said. I...I have already decided to return home to Lavonshire." Edward stepped down from the throne and took Anita by the hand.

"My dear, I meant every word I said. I shall cast aside the throne if only to remain by your's and our child's side."

James looked upon the empty throne with a sense of worry, even as the council continued to rant and rave. He caught Edward's eye and nodded. Edward closed with his cousin and sighed sadly.

"I'm sorry."

Before James could reply to that an aide came running in with a piece of paper in hand.

"Your Majesty! Chamberlain has been overrun! It fell before our reinforcements could arrive! The remnants of the Tellanian Army is bottlenecked at Union City!"

James turned to Edward and then to the council and spoke in a loud, clear tone.

"Tellanos has fallen."

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Whew! Well, here's Part 1 of the New Front. What will Bertram find when he arrives? What will happen with Eddy and Anita?

Find out next time!

(Tech Guide Excerpt)

Tellanos:

**PF32-C1**: Soviet Lavochkin La-7: Speed: 423mph. Armed: 2x 20mm cannons.

**PFB33-A4 **_(not previously listed)_: American Douglas DB-7: Speed: 351mph. Armed: 6x 20mm cannons, 4x LMG22s, 2 Ton internal bomb load.

**PF32-E1**: Soviet Iluyshin Il-2 Sturmovick: Speed: 380mph. Armed: 3x 20mm cannons, 2x LMG22s, 1x LMG22 (tail gun), 8x rockets, 4x bombs.

**PHB32-408C1**: American B-25H Mitchell: Speed: 315mph. Armed: 75mm gun (close support), 4x GG1EX 10mm Gatlings, 10x GG1L .60 caliber varient, 1 Ton bomb load.

As always, please review.

_Fluctuat nec mergitur 'Tossed but not Sunk'_

God Bless America. God Bless France.


	23. Hearts of Iron Part 2

Alright everyone, I'm back with the second half of the Fall of Tellanos. I hope ya'll enjoy it!

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 22: Hearts of Iron Part 2

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(Union City, on the northwest border of the Federation of Tellanos and the Kingdom of Syllia)

Bertram saw smoke rising from the distance, haloing the Grand Union Bridge in a cloud of smoke that swirled around its support columns. The Federation side of the city was already in ruins and the Syllian side was being bombarded by artillery on a ridge five miles away from the front line.

Union City had been founded in 1919 and with the completion of the bridge in 1921, Tellanos and Syllia were finally allies. This bridge served as the only crossing point along the Katherine River, the longest, widest, and deepest river on the continent. From the snatches he was hearing on the radio, the surviving units of the 11th, 13th, and 103rd Federal Armies were using the ruins of Union City West for sniper positions against the encroaching Rotiart Army.

The once proud Federation Army was in shambles. It's Armored Corps reduced to a few light tanks barely numbering one hundred and some medium tanks on loan from Syllia. Syllian Artillery near Union City East fired volley after volley at the incoming enemy but made no sizable dent in them. The remnants of the Federal Air Force, in conjunction with the Syllian RAF were making notable strikes but nothing permanent. As he reached the outskirts of UCE, Bertram keyed his radio.

"This is Major Bertram de Launces of the Launces First Air Wing, callsign 'Paladin'. Does anybody on the ground read me?"

The response was instant.

_"This is Colonel-General Dimitri Rosenkov, damn glad to hear your voice Major! I am what is left of what passes for a commander around here! I'm up to my neck in Rotarian forces and the damn traffic on the bridge is backed up worse than a Callinian sewer. I've got four objectives for you. First, assist the remnants of the 11th Heavy Infantry as they're under attack from enemy light bombers. Second, we've got fighter-bombers attacking our units bogged down on the bridge, most of them are wounded and civilians trying to evacuate. Make them think twice about another strafing run. Next, we've got people crossing the river by boat and they need protection from both gunboats and aircraft. Lastly, we've got a mixed assortment of tanks that are closing on the 103rd. They're down to thirty percent combat capacity and are hardly making a dent in them. If they fall, UCW will be blown wide open for attack."_

"Paladin copies. Alright, we'll need to split up. D Wing, engage the tanks closing on the 103rd. B Wing, engage the light bombers harrassing the 11th. C Wing, protect those boats crossing the river. A Wing will take care of the aircraft over the bridge. Alright, everybody, break formation! All planes have permission to engage any and all hostiles."

The wing acknowledged the order and dispersed, heading for their zones and objectives. Bertram pushed the throttle of his plane to full power and gazed up into the clouds above the bridge. In the clouds he saw the glimmer of black and silver and nodded.

"Attention A Wing, enemy planes above, they're heading for the bridge!" As he said this, one of the recruits who had joined his wing in Sanijo spoke up.

_"Paladin, this is Mystic, I've identified them as Rotiart F13s, twin engine fighters! They lightly armored around the fuselage, fueltanks, and engines. Recommend we focus our attacks at those weak spots."_ Bertram was impressed that the recruits obviously payed so much attention in aircraft identification classes and keyed the radio.

"Alright, all planes, aim for their fuel tanks to give the people on the ground something to cheer about, otherwise aim for the engines, they won't get far without them."

Bertram brought his plane up and angled the lead F13 in the crosshairs. Judgeing his distance, he squeezed the trigger and felt the dual cannons firing. His rounds impacted the aircraft's starboard engine and set it alight. As the engine seized, the plane dropped away and the formation scattered in panic.

"Everyone on them! Don't let them escape!"

Despite it not being as well armed as the its Syllian counterpart, the Tellanian interceptor was still a wonderful plane to fly. Its maneuverability and speed allowed him to appear where he was least expected and of the few F13s that turned to fight, none could match his Wing.

To his right, he saw one of the new recruits, a kid named Lee, strafe an F13 across the cockpit and then shoot the tail off another in one pass. Another recruit that he recognized as Mystic raked the fuselage of another F13 and watched it explode in a brilliant burst of flame. Looking around, he spotted more fighters closing and turned to engage.

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(D Wing)

Douglas Leere adjusted the throttle of his attack plane as he angled the nose towards the enemy front. He gazed at the heading and nodded, then turned to his copilot.

"Okay Tom, our first mission with the First Air Wing. Ready to show the Rotarians how we do things in Laevatain?" His copilot, his cousin Tomas Roarke,smiled and nodded.

"As always." He reached over and flipped the switch to the gun station.

"Hey Arnold! We're coming up on an enemy tank, let'em have it!"

_"Copy that, firing the big gun."_

The plane jerked violently as the 75mm gun in the nose recoiled and both pilot and copilot found themselves adjusting their headsets as the report of the gun all but deafened the crew inside. Someone crowed thar it was a direct hit but no one could hear properly for several seconds. Douglas growled as his ears stopped ringing.

"Note to self: kick whoever's ass who decided to put a cannon in the nose of a high speed aircraft." Tom grimaced and then tapped Douglas on the shoulder.

"This plane was designed by James de Launces you know? The Major's father?"

"So maybe I won't kick his ass as much as I will write a strongly worded letter. Anyway, we've got bombs right? Let's use them."

_"Copy that. Switching power to bomb bay doors."_

_ "Tail gunner here, we've got bandits, six o'clock high!"_ Douglas swore.

"Fuck me..."

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(C Wing)

Lieutenant Cutter and his group were flying low and watching the boats, packed with wounded soldiers and civilians. The boats were so heavily loaded they were nearly swamped as they moved slowly through the waves. A low buzzing got his attention and he gazed west and saw several old Federation biplanes flying in low to assist in guarding the boats. He heard his tail gunner humming a tune and immediately he recognized it as the old song 'Those Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines'.

"Watched a few air shows growing up eh, Jerry?" The gunner laughed.

"Guilty as charged. I spent my fondest days watching the Launces Home Wing and later the Aerocorps practice over Launces. My father owned a field in the outskirts of the city that had been salted during the Federation War and was no longer fertile. The Aerocorps used it as an emergency landing field and eventually bought it to become the Launces National Airfield."

Cutter chuckled and then heard the radio pipe up.

"Looks like A and D Wings have engaged the enemy. Keep a weather eye open for anything odd...hold it."

In the distance, Cutter could see several fast boats approaching and then he saw the small arms on the evacuation boats start firing at the incoming vessels.

"As the Praetorians say, 'Tally ho!' Enemy attack boats incoming! C Wing engage!"

Cutter aimed his plane at the incoming boats and flipped the switch to arm the rockets under the wings. As the crosshairs landed over a boat he flipped another switch which launched the corresponding rocket. The explosive weapon flew from the wing and impacted the boat, splintering it.

At that same time, a great cheer rose up from the civilians on the boats as more of C Wing used their rockets on the incoming boats. A moment later, a loud screaming was heard and their cheers turned into cries of terror as dive bombers fell from the sky, guns blazing.

"Dive bombers coming down! Clauson, take Ingles and Metsk and engage those bastards, this river will not run red today unless it is with the blood of our enemies!"

Three of the planes broke formation and flew straight for the incoming dive bombers. Cutter and his group continued to engage the boats as more and more civilian-laden vessels flooded the river.

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(A Wing)

Bertram gave a sigh of relief as yet another enemy plane went down in flames. Sparing a glance at the river he couldn't help but bite back a curse.

"Looks like a damn city of rafts and boats down there. They're all sitting ducks."

He heard a loud screaming noise and saw several dive bombers dropping on top of the boats and agve a relieved sigh when several planes from C Wing rose to engage them.

_"Paladin! Colonel-General Rosenkov here, the Rotarians have brought up reinforcements from Chamberlain, I'm ordering my forces to pull back to the bridge."_

"General, do you mean to destroy the bridge?"

_"I am seriously considering that option but only once it is clear of civilians and wounded soldiers. I'm honestly at a loss for words my friend...Union City has fallen, and with it Tellanos. My homeland is no more."_

"You sure about that? I can name at least three Federation generals who would argue that point with you."

_"Hold on...yes I'm sure. As for the three generals you know, General Oleg died when Retorinc fell, General Katyusha died in a rocket attack in Chamberlain, bit of irony there, and General Koniev was shot down the day before yesterday in a surprise attack."_

"What about the Federal Committee? They're in Syllia."

_"You answered your own question. They're in __**Syllia**__. Not Tellanos...Hmm, your planes have done well insofar. Truly a pity that you were not here sooner. Saved me a lot of headaches you would as well as spared me the arthritis in my hands from writing so many condolence letters."_ There was an explosion in the background and Bertram heard Rosenkov curse like a sailor before returning to the radio.

_"Very well, it is now or never, I'm ordering the remaining Federal forces to retreat. The Armored Corps will have to abandon their tanks but the enemy will __**not**__ have them. Major, please cover our forces as we withdraw."_

"I copy sir, see you in Syllia."

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(D Wing)

Douglas watched from on high as the tank crews leapt from their tanks moments before the so-called 'scuttling charges' detonated, reducing the tanks to scrap metal. Even the Syllian tanks were being blown up.

He nosed his plane into a strafing run of the enemy infantry who were trying to set up a killzone with several machineguns and mowed them down. His tailgunner had been firing nonstop since first sighting an enemy aircraft, ironically a captured Federation PF16 biplane, and managed to down several of the gnats.

As the latest kill fell from the heavens above the battlefield, the tail gun spat the last fifteen rounds into another PF16 that had taken the place of the one from before. The tailgunner got on the radio.

_"LT, I'm out of bullets!"_

"We still got an enemy behind us?"

_"Yeah."_

"Well do something!"

_ "What am I supposed to do? Spit at him? Use harsh language?"_

"Dealer's choice. You can piss at him of you think it'll help, or moon him."

At that moment, a loud whine filled the air and a crack of gunfire.

_"Praise be! One of the boys from B Wing took care of our gnat problem."_ Douglas sighed.

"Well praise be. When we land I'm buyin' that bastard a drink. Who was it?"

_"The Miller brothers."_ Another sigh.

"Shit. With them there's no such thing as 'one drink'.

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On the bridge below, soldiers of the Federal 11th Heavy Infantry were helping Rosenkov wore the bridge with explosives as they retreated. They had already used most of the explosives in laying traps throughout the ruins of UCW and were now halfway across the bridge when the first series of detonations alerted them. Rosenkov, shaken but unafraid, turned to his men.

"Almost there Comrades! It's just a little ways further. If we fail today, Syllia may as well start digging its own grave as the enemy rolls into their territory. Captain! Has the east end been cleared?"

"Da!_ (Yes!)_ General, sir, should you not fall back as well? You are our commander are you not?"

"I am, however, unlike you all, I am not so much a soldier as I am an engineer. I build things and then blow them up for a living. I was also a part of the EOD Team 2 and thus am the only man needed on this bridge. If anyone should leave now, it is you brave souls."

A Rotarian shell exploded close to the start of the bridge. Rosenkov chuckled.

"This day may be bleak for our Motherland, but it is not the end of it. Go to Syllia, gain your strength, and when the time is right, march back into our beloved homeland with your heads held high. Heh, maybe when this is over I'll run for a Council position. I certainly sound like a Political Officer." The soldier nearest him, a Private, chuckled wryly.

"Except for one thing sir." Rosenkov looked to the soldier, eyes curious.

"What's that?" The soldier smiled as he unfirled more line for the explosives.

"You always try to speak the truth, you never bend it or lie." Rosenkov and many others also laughed as they worked their way back.

"If...If that weren't true I'd arrest you for sedition!" Rosenkov allowed himself to laugh at the joke as did the rest of the men. A moment later another shell hit the bridge. A soldier with them looked to another.

"You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say they were _actually_ aiming for us." Another shell hit. Rosenkov looked around their position and then turned to the soldiers.

"They _are _aiming at us! Rig the charges as we go, the time for subtlety has gone out the window! When they're rigged, toss 'em at the supports! Run!"

The eight men took off in a dead run, four carrying explosives, two sticking fuse lines and tossing them, and the other two firing pot shots with their pistols into the ruined city behind them.

There was the sharp _crack_ of a rifle and one of the men returning fire fell dead. His comrade grabbed his pistol and dual-wielding them, returned a blistering amount of fire before he too was cut down. Rosenkov looked at the men and the urged the others on.

"Keep moving! We've planted enough explosives to blow the bridge up three times over. Captain, get your remaining men to safety, I'll stay behind to finish the demolitions!"

"But sir-"

"'But' me one more time and I'll toss you off the bridge and order you to swim to shore! Go!"

The soldiers took off in a dead run as they were ordered to just as the rumbling or Rotiart tanks reached their ears. Rosenkov ducked in between debris to wire more charges before running and tossing them left and right. He made it to a set of pillars near the Syllian side when the sniper struck again. This time however, his aim was off as the bullet ripped through Rosenkov's leg instead of his chest of head. He dragged himself to a military vehicle nearby and wound the wires around the detonator. He heard a plane overhead and looked up to see Bertram's plane fly overhead.

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Bertram couldn't see much because of the smoke that choked the bridge but he could see tanks starting to cross as well as Rotarian infantry beginning a 'victory march' across the bridge, stepping over and sometimes on the bodies of the fallen and marching through the blood and gore that covered the pavement. The radio beeped once as he flipped the reciever on.

_"B-Bertram..."_

"General Rosenkov! Sir, why haven't you crossed the bridge?"

_"C-Can't...got a round through my leg...Listen, I fear this war will get worse before it gets any better...the enemy...they are...determined...to say the least. They will not stop until Syllia is put to the sword. For the sake of both our lands, try to strike decisively. Demoralize the enemy wherever possible. Disrupt their plans whenever possible...and always, __**always**__, keep an eye on your comrades. Now then, I think...that it's time...First Air Wing, fall back to allied lines."_

Bertram was about to say something when there was a large explosion from below. Wheeling the plane around, he saw the ruins of Union City West erupt into flames and explosions run along the length of the bridge. The pillars and supports cracked and crumbled, tanks screeched as they tried to retreat back over the bridge only to run over other tanks or infantrymen too shocked or stunned to understand what had just happened.

Then, with a mighty _crack_, the bridge began to fall, segment by segment, into the river below. Men screamed as the fell then drowned as they hit the river, their heavy packs dragging them all the way to the bottom. Those who could swim did so until they were cut down my machinegun emplacements along the Syllian side of Union City.

It was horrible to watch, yet, for some odd reason, Bertram couldn't turn away. He watched these men get slaughtered in the river. He saw their blood turn the crystal clear water red with blood. He watched the current carry the corpses of the dead downriver to where the river emptied out into the ocean.

Smoke and dust lingered over the air, blocking the bridge from view. Moments later, a strong gust of wind struck the cloud, dispersing it, and giving view to a horrific sight.

The Union City Bridge, a bridge built to unite two countries, once enemies, in an era of peace, was destroyed. Only a small segment on the Syllian side remained standing. In the river, the bodies lay piled upon broken and twisted machinery, bodies choked the river and washed up on either side of the river. Vehicles such as tanks, abandoned trucks, and cars that hadn't sunk when the bridge collapsed lay burning on the few segments that either lay on the sandbar under the bridge or lay on top of more rubble and wreckage.

In the distance, in Union City West, building burned and collapsed onto the soldiers still choking the streets. One skyscraper actually came down level on top of Main Street, flattening several dozen tanks and untold infantrymen. Bertram saw the survivors of Tellanos and Syllian citizens lining the roads heading east, towards Callen's Hill, and beyond that, to Launces and Royalis. Bertram took a deep breath and keyed the radio.

"Attention, all planes. Let's head for home. We're going back to Launces."

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(Meanwhile, in Royalis)

Edward von Syllia, the King of Syllia, stood beside his Queen and before the members of the Council as well as representatives of the various noble houses. To his other side, stood James de Launces, pale and rather upset, but nonetheless supportive of his actions. In the back, Edward could see James' wife, Lysa, looking just as apprehensive about the entire thing. It was one thing to abdicate the throne but another entirely what he was about to do.

The crowd parted and members of the Praetorian delegation came forward, looking both sorrowful and yet relieved the events were taking place. The leader of the delegation bowed before them.

"Your Majesties, I thank you, Praetoria thanks you, from the bottom of our hearts. The coronation of Empress Anita the First shall take place the day after we return to Lav-er...come to think of it, Lavonshire is no longer a safe place for the Imperial family, not to mention the child. Your Majesty will have to choose a new Capital once the coronation is complete." Anita nodded understandingly as did Edward who then looked up and raised his voice.

"My dearest friends, family, and comrades, it is with deep sadness that I leave you today. Had this war not come to our doorstep, we would in all possibility still be living the lives we led before. But now war has come, and our presense is needed elsewhere. Praetoria needs an Empress and the Empress needs her husband. So, therefore, I hereby abdicate the throne of Syllia, and hereby relinquish all titles, priviliges, and rights contained within this Crown and this mark of distinction." The people gathered before them nodded solumnly. Some even openly wept. Edward raised his hand to avert questions that he knew were going to be asked and spoke again.

"However, do not think this is the end of the Syllian Kingdom. For, there have always been contigincies in place in case the Royal family of Syllia was wiped out by either war, sickness, or strife. The days of King Edward von Royalis, are now at an end."

With that, Edward and his wife stepped down from the throne and to the side and Edward and the Chamberlain motioned for the new King to step forward to the throne.

The Chamberlain, his voice controlled, commanding, nevertheless cracked with sorrow but at the same time, relief.

"The days of King Edward von Royalis the XVI, son of King Edward von Royalis the XV, great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandchild of King William the First, are at an end." The Chamberlain turned to the new King.

The people froze in the places, now one spoke, no one moved, no one looked to even breathe.

"Now come the days of the new King, of the new Royal Family."

Edward removed the crown of Syllia from his head and handed it to the Chamberlain who walked up the steps to the throne where the new King stood.

"Let his reign be great, his words unfettered, his will as hard as steel, his honor untarnished, his deeds sung throughout the land!"

The Chamberlain placed the crown atop the new King's head and beckoned him to rise.

"May all take heed of him. May all recognize him."

Lysa started moving through the croud as Syllian nobles, councilors, and soldiers alike dropped to one knee. The Chamberlain nodded and turned back to the King.

"Now, before the eyes of all assembled, before the eyes of God, and before the eyes of a Nation, begins the days and the reign of James the First, King of Syllia!"

The councilors, people, and soldiers rose as Lysa came up to stand beside James de Launces who looked as if he was about to be sick and they began cheering and chanting.

"Long live the King!" The Chamberlain stood to the side and Edward and Anita took up the cheer.

"Long live the King!" Outside, the people of Royalis cheered as well. Churches and Cathedrals throughout the city rang their bells in celebration. The sound of which reverberated within the halls of the castle.

"Long live the King!" James turned to Lysa, who smiled. James then took a deep breath and then raised a hand to silence the crowd.

"My...My people..._(ahem)_...I shall try to do the best I can, to end this war and see our loved ones returned home safely. Like you, I too have loved ones serving at this very moment; risking their lives for the freedoms that we as a nation and as a people enjoy. With your support, and the blessings of God, we shall defeat this evil and we shall drive it back to the Abyss from whence it came. For the peace that our children and our children's children deserve. We shall fight them, we shall fight the enemy, no matter where they are be it on the seas, on the land, or even in the air. We shall fight on, and we shall win!"

The people before him started clapping and cheering. James was unaware, but the people assembled outside the castle were also cheering and clapping.

"No matter how long it will take us...to avenge this...trajedy that has befallen our allies and has cost the lives of our people and soldiers, we, the people of Syllia, in our righteous might, will win through to absolute victory! As my first act as King, I request the Council renew the Declaration of War against the Rotiart Principality, the Damoneni Confederacy, and the Callinar Island Nations."

James turned to Edward and Anita, he smiled wanely and nodded to his cousin.

"I wish nothing but the best for the both of you. You once told me, if you had the choice to cast aside the crown and live life as an ordinary man for a day that you wouldn't do it. You feared that in that one day, everything you knew and cared about would come crashing down around you faster than you could put it back together. I wish that this needn't have happened but I can see why it must be done."

He turned to Anita.

"Anita...know that in the days that come...when you are Empress, know that Syllia will stand beside you." Anita bowed slightly and smiled.

"I thank you, Your Majesty."

The Praetorian delegation came forward, spoke words of thanks to James, and then escorted Anita and Edward out of the castle. James then turned to Lysa who still stood beside him.

"One hurdle over, and who knows how many more."

Before she could answer, the doors were opened for a pale messenger coming in, out of breath, clutching a message in his hand.

"Y-Your Majesty! I-I-I beg to re-report that-"

A General recieved the letter and read it before approaching James and kneeling.

"Your Majesties, Union City has been occupied. Through the bravery of some Federation soldiers, the Union City Bridge was destroyed before the enemy could cross it. A standing garrison has been placed at the crossing in case of enemy attack. Also, the Launces First Air Wing has returned to Launces. No casualties reported."

James thanked him and the messenger then addressed the group.

"Lock down our borders and start patrolling the border from Northumbria to Schildhaven. If Rotiart is as stubborn as I've been led to believe, they may try to invade and occupy Schildhaven as a means to reach us. Or they may attempt to navigate the Three Points Pass in Northumbria. This must not happen. Redeploy the 2nd and 3rd Armies to Union City East and set the 4th and 5th Armies to patrol along our Northumbrian border."

The Council aggreed wholeheartedly with neither a cry of protest or a word of challenge. It made him glad the council was on the same page as him for once but it also unnerved him.

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While all this was happening, far to the north of Tellanos' territory, lay a city that was covered in snow and ice year in and year out. Though this was indeed a city, it was a city Tellanos did not confirm or deny existed. It was a city that no one lived there who wanted to live there, a city that all the residents were forced to live there and could not be allowed anywhere else.

For decades rumors had circulated about a so-called 'prison city' where the Tellanians sent disgraced, dishonored, or disobediant soldiers, cowards, malcontents, anarchists, right-wing political factions, coup conspiritors, and political prisoners who spoke out regularly against the Federal Committee.

It was a city where only Tellanian soldiers, clad in snow-white uniforms which hid them in the snow as they performed their rounds, walked the streets. Prisoners were to _never_ be allowed outside onto the streets. The soldiers here meant well but their redundant duties and rare attempts at escape dulled their perception and rusted their abilities.

It was here, in the lowest floor of the largest building in the exact center of the prison city that the unthinkable happened.

It was over in a moment, explosions rattled the prison as soldiers stormed the central building and made their way to a door built like a bank vault. They killed the six men stationed at the door and began to painstakingly undo the locks on the door. When, several minutes later, the last lock released and the door swung out, the soldiers snapped to attention and saluted reverently. The lead soldier, an officer, saluted by holding up his right hand as if in a 'stop' motion, revealing the crimson star sewn into his glove.

One by one, the other soldiers did the same, revealing the same emblem on their gloves. A moment later, a man, clad in a black longcoat with a white front, black trousers, and boots stepped out of the prison. He easily stood over the six foot mark, almost seven, he had broad shoulders, strong features, but what distinguished him from all others were his scars, at leats those visible.

He had a long jagged scar running down the left side of his face revealing an empty socket where his eye had once been, his right arm was missing from the elbow down, and had a large scar running from one side of his neck to the other, either from an attempted hanging or a failed attempt to cut his throat, nobody really knew.

On his coat, over his heart, was a red star.

The officer who had saluted lowered his hand and smiled.

"Comrade General Ivanov. We are pleased to see you." Ivanov nodded as he inspected the men before him.

"What of events outside my...gilded cage?"

"The Committee has fallen into exile sir. A nation, Rotiart, has invaded and has pushed the Federal Army out of Tellanos. They most likely seek to rebuild their strength and then try to retake Tellanos..._**with**_ Syllian aid." The general shook his head sadly.

"The Syllians I am not troubled with. We ourselves are small in number and must make sacrifices to ensure our nation restored. The Committee, however, cannot be allowed to regain a foothold. Send word to our forces awaiting in the occupied cities. Tell them that the wolf has left its cave. They will know what it means." The officer saluted again and left as Ivanov surveyed the bodies around him.

"Such a shame it came to bloodshed...these men were true loyal sons of Tellanos. Our nation is lesser without brave, _loyal_, men. Once the Committee is dealt with and we are firmly in power, I shall see to it that no loyal Tellanian needs shed blood for what is ours by right. For now, we ally with the Syllians, but should they cross us or interfere with our plans, we will crush them."

The officer then brought forth a case and opened it. Inside was a prosthetic right arm and what appeared to be a mechanical eye of some sort.

"Presents from our..._benefactor_...sir."

The general nodded, closed the case, and he and his soldiers exited the prison just as alarms began going off throughout the building.

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(Meanwhile, in Rotiart)

Dieter sat in his quarters at the Shadowfell Airbase and silently gazed out the window to where his squadron's jets sat on the field. He looked to his squadron who sat before him, each and every one of them from Jyne and Wolff to the others of his squadron that he trusted. He sighed and then held up a card he'd been given the day he returned to Shadowfell.

This card was dark blue and marked with a gold four-pointed star. He set the card down and then saw the other members of his squadron remove similar cards. He nodded.

"Gentlemen. It has come to my attention that there is a resistance movement here in Rotiart. Apparently, I have not been the only one of us to recieve their..._invitation_ to join their cause. The attack on Praetoria has galvanized them and has forced them to a rather drastic action. In three days, Mechanos will be giving a speech to rally the morale of the people and to announce the rebirth of the Rotarian Empire. Afterwards, he will be going to a military base to plan the next assault which will likely mean moving troops into Syllia."

Dieter handed a flyer annuncing the speech to Jyne who looked over it and then handed it around.

"The Resistance has planned to assassinate Mechanos during the speech. Failing that, he will be placed on a transport that another jet squadron has been assigned to protect. We however, are on standby in case of an emergency." The men before him paled but nodded. Dieter then removed a packet of papers and opened up an envelope containing an action order.

"I have recieved word that Mechanos plans to deploy another of those Ragnarok bombs to attack the city of Launces and another to bomb what remains of Union City. If this comes to pass we are to take off, intercept the bombers, and from there, fly to Launces." Dieter saw their expressions and sighed, relieved that there seemed to be no desent from them.

"I swore an oath to serve Rotiart, as did we all, but Mechanos' atrocities have all but damned us. For the future of our homeland, we must do what we do now in order to save it from the dark future that awaits us for, superweapons or not, no matter what kinds of hell and damnation Mechanos can inflict upon the world, his war is doomed to fail because of this one event and when he falls, Rotiart will fall with him. To ensure that our families and our homeland does not burn with him." Dieter traced a line on the map before him from Shadowfell to Launces. Then looked up to his squadron, his eyes almost glowing in the light.

"We must defect."

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Alright! It's done!

So, how'd ya'll like it? Kinda threw a curve ball at ya but, well, it had to happen to advance the story.

As always, please review.

Next chapter: Fallen Heroes, Fugitive Hope.


	24. Fallen Heroes

Not much to say here. Waiting for Star Wars to be released, among other things. Anyway, sorry for the shortened chapter again, got to looking at the chapter and discovered it was too long so, having to split it again.

I have to think about adding Microsoft Office to my list...

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 23: Fallen Heroes

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Dieter adjusted the necktie on his class A dress uniform and then reluctantly placed a hand over the countless ribbons and medals he wore. He then reached around his neck to the more recent of the commendations, the so-called 'Vanquisher's Legion of Valorous Service' or 'VLVS' that Mechanos had created to honor the first squadron to lead a nuclear attack against an enemy nation. As his eyes fell upon the black and silver medallion with a blood ruby center that encircled his neck like a hangman's noose he felt an unshakable urge to rip the accursed thing off and throw it into a volcano somewhere. As he cazed into the mirror, he also saw the brightly polished Major's ensignias that now rested on his shoulder, a further 'honor' from Mechanos.

He and his squadron had recieved their medals upon returning to Rotiart the day after the nuclear attack on Lavonshire. His medal, however, was rated as '1st-Class' due to his engagement of enemy fighters over Gloster that protected the bomber. He considered the risks with removing the medal and casting it aside but then decided against it.

_(If I must do what I have to do, to not wear the medal will only arouse suspicion. Especially with Marks and his accursed Butchers feeling slighted that this 'honor' went to us rather than to them...They'll likely be looking for an excuse to cause trouble.)_

Still, tying the medal around his neck made him feel dirtied. It was as if he truly _was_ placing his own noose around his neck, preparing for the drop that would send his stained and bloodied soul straight to the Abyss and the eternal torment that doubtlessly awaited him. Wolff had also recieved one, a saphire embedded '3rd-Class' honor, and had nearly chunked it and the box it came in into the fireplace in his quarters.

Only Voss, as persuasive as he was, could talk him out of it, and that was stretching it.

_'It is only because that I trust you and your plan Dieter that I don't rid myself of this object of damnation. Just handling it makes me feel the Fires of Judgement burning my soul. I would hazzard that any recieving this 'honor' would be in for such a fate if they went along with these mad schemes willingly.'_

Voss and Jyne had recieved their's as well, each an emerald-clad '2nd-class'. When Werner, their griffon mascot, looked at the medal, he had murmured something in griffon that made Voss pale. He then explained that he saw a 'blood haze' covering the medals. It was as if the medals themselves were forged in radioactive flames and quenched in the blood of those they had unknowingly killed in the attack.

He shook the feelings off for a moment and straightened the medals he had earned before Mechanos came to power and then straightened himself up.

_(There will be time to mourn and to rid ourselves of these medals once we are free and clear. Until then, come hell or high water, we must go along with the plan.)_

Still, despite going over the plan time and again in his head, he found himself looking at the clock on the mantle and then reviewing the plan.

At 11:25, Mechanos would arrive in the courtyard of the ancient Imperial Palace that stood overlooking the Western Sea. Five minutes later, he would begin his speech which was slated to last until 12:30.

At 12:35, Mechanos would take lunch with the members of 215 Squadron and with various 'heroes' and VIPs.

The Resistance had planned for Mechanos to be killed in one of two ways, or both depending. The first was that the waiter, who was a member of the Resistance, would slip a poison into Mechanos' drink or poison his food as it was being prepared. Secondly, one of the heroes, a soldier who had been grievously injured in combat, Dieter couldn't remember his name, had a briefcase and would be travelling with Mechanos to the briefing later on.

In that briefcase was a bomb that would be armed when the soldier put in a certain combination to unlock it. Depending on how valuable or how at ease Mechanos was, he may ask the soldier for the papers while they had lunch in which case the soldier would arm the case, remove the papers and present them to Mechanos, after which he would excuse himself for some reason or another and then make his escape. If Mechanos didn't wish to speak tactics and battleplans at lunch, then the soldier would wait until they were at the briefing location and then arm the bomb and escape.

At 13:00 (1:00), Mechanos would deliver his farewell address and then depart for Fort Exile by means of a TR-1611 heavy transport. He would be escorted by Marks and his Squadron, the 666th Aerial Assault Wing, the so-called 'Butchers of Chamberlain'.

Dieter frowned as he recalled the horror stories he had heard about Marks' force. 'A wing dedicated to the complete and total annihalation of the enemy force' is what they were known as and what the papers in both Tellanos and Rotiart had called them.

During the Battle of Retorinc and later at Chamberlain, the 666th had led countless attacks against the enemy forces smashing them time and again. They did everything from dropping bombs point blank at enemy formations to launching rockets at field hospitals and strafing the wounded as they fled the field. Their planes, modified version of the JFI-1 known as JFI-1hk _(hunter-killer)_ that were built soley to kill and maim all who went against them.

To Dieter, each and every one of that wing were monsters and murderers of the worst sort and the planes little more than abominations; spawned by the mad, if not outright insane, mind of Otto Mechanos.

If all went as planned then by 14:20 (2:20), Mechanos would be dead, the Resistance leaders would be in control and could order a cease-fire and even perhaps a truce. Rotiart would have to make substancial reparations but it was a small price to pay to retain their national individuality and their freedom. He gazed at the flag of Rotiart and with his mind's eye saw it morph and take shape as the flag of Syllia. Then as Tellanos. Then as Praetoria.

Of all these outcomes, Syllia would likely be the best choice because it had been the least wronged and, by all reports, the least likely to attempt to absorb Rotiart as a territory.

All of this however, could end if the people were in their right places at the right times and everything went off without a hitch or any other problem. As Jyne came into his quarters with a wild expression and holding a newspaper in his hand, Dieter had a sinking feeling that things would go downhill fast.

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(Launces)

George sat in the foyer of the castle with his brother, Bertram. Both were slackjawed and silent as they watched the reel of the coronation take place. With them was Bertram's wing of course, as well as the castle staff and the members of the castle guard. No doubt the cinema in the city was showing the exact same thing they were watching right now.

No matter how many times he could watch the reel, he still couldn't believe that his parents were now the King and Queen of Syllia. A fact that was not lost on him as the commanders of the Launces regiments made a point of coming by and reporting to both he and his brother.

George was the eldest brother so that made him the Crown Prince, as it were, and his other siblings as well. With his career in the Army in doubt, no one could blame him for taking a medical discharge and then assuming a permanant leadership of Launces since it was now obvious that his Father and Mother would not be returning.

No one except for himself, that is.

His hearing was still weak but he could hear well enough to carry on a conversation and speak to everyone around him. His nurse, Angela, had been a godsend. Not only had she been a wonderful person to talk to, he had learned that she had graduated from the university not only with degrees for medical field but also she was listed and registered as a Class B Orchestra Composer. This meant that, when not asking about his health, she was able to work with him to further his hearing and his music.

As the oldest of three brothers, when Josh had taken up art as his choice of culture and Bertram had taken literature, George had chosen music and was already an accomplished composer. Most of his work was registered as Class B masterworks yet there were some that were Class A. One of his best works, 'Midnight Symphony Number XXVIII', was openly compared to Adagio Correlli's '3rd Winter Concerto' which was one of the best examples of classical music in the nation.

Lately in his free time he'd been working on a new piece, one that he'd been forced to delay, and delay, and delay time and again. He'd started it when he was a Senior in school and then pushed it back to work on the Midnight Symphonies in university, then pushed it back indefinately while on active duty and at the command of the military. While recovering, he and Angela had advanced it somewhat but it still sounded raw and unfinished to his ears.

As the reel ended and the staff and soldiers with them let out cheers and congratulations to both George and his brother, a messenger opened the doors to the castle and came running in and presented a letter to George. George read over it slowly and then passed it along to Bertram who also read the missive.

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SIGNAL D1-242: ROYALIS HIGH COMMAND TO LAUNCES: URGENT.

ACTIVATION ALERT ISSUED. THREAT LEVEL RED.

ALL FORCES IN LAUNCES ARE TO IMMEDIATELY BEGIN COMBAT PATROLS ALONG THE MAIN ROADS FROM LAUNCES TO CALLEN'S HILL.

LAUNCES 1ST AIR WING GROUPS B, C AND D ARE HEREBY ORDERED TO BEGIN AERIAL SWEEPS OF THE SAME PATH. UNITS ON STANDBY ARE THE GYLADON 2ND AIR WING AND THE PENINSULA CITY 3RD AIR WING.

ALL BOMBERS AT LAUNCES, GYLADON, AND PENINSULA CITY WILL BEGIN BOMBING RAIDS OF ROTIART POSITIONS IN OCCUPIED TELLANIAN TERRITORY.

FURTHERMORE, 1ST AIR WING GROUP A IS TO REPORT IMMEDIATELY TO LAUNCES WORKSHOP ONE BY ORDER OF KING JAMES.

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Bertram looked to his brother to see if he had any idea as to what was happening. Workshop One and its predecessor, Workshop Zero, weren't exactly common knowledge but what was known was that the only entrance to Workshop One was through the central elevator and using a special key to unlock the lower levels. George then remembered something that had arrived earlier that morning and asked for an envelope to be brought from his room.

The servant returned quickly and then George opened the box and out fell two keys: a small key and a much larger one. The two brothers exchanged a glance and then both rushed tp the elevator in the next room. George gazed at the mechanism.

"Let's see...first, insert the key and turn counter-clockwise to unlock the cover." The lock holding the cover over the keyhole clicked and sprang up as the key was removed, revealing the keyhole underneath. Then George placed the larger key into the keyhole.

This larger key was unique in that if it ever broke or went missing, no one except their Father or the famous locksmith Edward Tallmage could reproduce the key or pick the lock. The key was the length of George's hand and had three sections to it. The first section of four 'teeth' faced downwards like a regular key. The next section had five teeth that were on the opposite side. The last section had four teeth that came off the left side.

George remembering his Mother telling him once that one thing that James insisted when Tallmage designed this lock was that it had to be complex enough to foil most intruders yet simple enough that, in the event of untimely death, any one of his blood could open it. Naturally, being three-quarters dragon gave him and his brothers a knack for solving puzzles.

(Plus George had been down in the workshop before so he knew how to unlock the elevator.)

"Insert the key's first section...turn clockwise until the second section is facing down...push the second section in...rotate counter-clockwise until third section is down...push in third section...turn key completely around clockwise."

There was a loud _'bang!'_ that echoed through the elevator as the lock was released and the elevator began to lower automatically down to the lowest level of the castle.

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(Shadowfell, Rotiart)

Dieter and his group were on the podium and stood and saluted the national flag as the massive five-hundred piece band and orchestra performed the National Anthem. His eyes glanced momentarily from the flags waving around the entire pavillion to the crowd gathered before them. There was easily several thousand people here and Dieter wondered how many of them were collaborators or Resistance members, how many were truly loyal to Mechanos' ideals or how many were only going along with him blindly because he was their nation's leader.

He even wondered bow many of them managed to smuggle weapons past the security and would try to take matters into their own hands.

Judging by the reaction of the crowd as Mechanos entered, the chances that there was anybody who would lash out with a revolver or some small, easily concealed weapon and take pot-shots at Mechanos was not very likely. The chances of a Resistance member being among them was also not bloody likely.

The crowd roared and cheered as Mechanos rose to the podium and then silenced the cheering crowd by raising both hands. As the last cheer died down, he lowered his hands and then shuffled some papers before him. Then he looked up, face and eyes full of life and smiled.

"My dear people! Citizens of our beloved homeland, Rotiart! Today is a day of utter joy, for today we celebrate the strike our intrepid Aerial Assault Force made against our long-standing enemy, the so-called 'Invincible' Praetorian Empire!"

There were cheers from the crowd as he spoke and he nodded and smiled in the direction of the cheering and then continued.

"As many of you know, a few days ago, I ordered a prototype test flight of several new aircraft and weapons that I now have the pleasure of stating that such aircraft, if not the weapons they carry, will now become the primary aircraft for all of Rotiart's immense aeiral might! The brave pilots who flew those aircraft, just as those brave few volunteers who first founded the Rotiart Aerial Corps some twenty years ago, are now proclaimed to be, from this day forward, heroes of the Rotarian People and Nation!" He paused and allowed people to begin cheering loudly. As a favor to the families of the pilots and 'heroes', Mechanos had had their families rushed out here and given front row seats top the speech so that they could see their loved ones in their moments of glory.

Scanning the group, he caught a glimpse of Jyne's brothers and sisters, Voss' parents and sister, Wolff's parents were nearby as well but they seemed less enthused by their son's 'heroics' than even he was. Lastly, there was a sight that made Dieter's breath catch.

There, sitting on the front row, dead center of the crowd, was his ex-wife and children, all grown up and gazing at him with expressions he could not place. Pride? Regret? Sorrow? Anger?

Perhaps a mix of all these things...

The last time he'd seen his wife, she'd stormed out of their home with their young son and daughter in tow telling him to 'go dance with his angels'. He'd been a fighter pilot for so long he'd forgotten that, like any man, he led two lives. The one in the sky, and the one on the ground.

Like any fool starstruck with aerial flight, he had regrettably neglected his family in exchance for his squadron, his career, and his plane.

Now he sat here, next to the leader of his nation, a high ranking officer, a respectable command. The life he had promised his wife when they married.

And in a few short hours, depending on what happened, he would either have a chance at redemption, or he'd have to throw away all he had acomplished.

Dieter had been so engrossed that he hadn't even heard Mechanos call his name to stand and was nudged by Jyne. He quickly gathered his senses and stood, much to the cheers of the crowd, yet the people he looked at, his ex-wife and children, remained silent. He walked towards Mechanos, a fake smile plastered on his face as he shook his hand and then stood at attention while Mechanos pinned a third Onyx Star to his chest and then bent his head low to, officially, recieve the VLVS, as well as another medal which was a shock to both him and to everyone in the crowd.

Mechanos produced a new medal from an ornate red laquered box. This medal, unlike the VLVS which hung from a black ribbon, swung from a white ribbon. A shield, cast in gold, with two griffons, two lances, and the words _'Glory, Grace, Honor'_ etched into the gold.

The crowd gasped and Dieter paled as mechanos slipped the Imperial Aegis around his neck and then patted his shoulder for the que to straighten.

This medal was a relic of the ancient Rotarian Empire. A medal bestowed only to those who had distinguished themselves in battle with an overwhelming foe. An honor that was supposed to only be bestowed upon a soldier by the Emperor and usually came with an appointment to either a noble class rank or a Field Marshal or Lord General's rank and posting.

As Dieter took his seat he found himself unable to steady his breath as he gazed at the silver and white medal that lay over the VLVS. A medal that symbolized everything that Dieter loved about his homeland hanging over a medal that symbolized everything he had come to despise. It was then that the fanfare began and Dieter saw Mechanos straighten up and smile broadly.

"It is time, my fellow citizens, my people. That we shed our past of our defeat and our failures, and rise up to a new destiny, a new and glorius future. For with these heroes beside me and other such brave men and women as I know you all to be, we shall bring forth a new era! We shall restore the glory of the old Empire of Rotiart! An Empire that shall last until the end of time. We shall be the masters of all we survey and no one shall stop us! Tellanos has been swept aside as dust before the wind! Syllia shall crack and crumble under the burden that its own economy places upon it! Espan and Anozira shall wither and die and even Praetoria will tremble with such force it shall utterly destroy itself!" The people broke free from their stunned silence and began cheering as the old Imperial Anthem echoed in the space.

"I, Lord Otto Mechanos, do hereby announce the rebirth or the Glorious Rotarian Empire! And with Tellanos as our staging ground, we shall launch wave after crippling wave against Syllia, Schildhaven, and even Nevora until they are vanquished and our banner flies above all others!" The cheering got even louder.

"My people, it is however, customary for an Empire to have an Emperor. I hereby ask, that in light of all that has transpired, that the people bestow the mantle, and name, of Emperor, to me."

The crowd grew silent as these words echoed and faded. For a moment, Dieter wondered if they would rise up here and now to rebel as it was common knowledge that self-appointed rulers almost _never_ had the best interests of the people in mind.

In Rotiart however, it seemed that Mechanos, however crazy he may be, could do no wrong.

A lone voice from the back of the crowd began clapping and a lone voice broke the silence.

"Long live the Empire! Long Live Emperor Mechanos!"

"Long Live the Emperor!"

"Long Live the Emperor!"

"Long Live the Emperor!"

The chanting was loud and overwhelming. Dieter found himself worrying and looked at his watch. He eyed the officer next to him and explained the need to relieve himself. The officer snorted disdainfully but made no effort to stop him as he rose and then stepped off the stage and vanished.

Behind the stage, Dieter met the man who was their contact with the resitance, a man named Raymond, who looked fairly distressed. He looked at him with an expression that made Dieter's heart sink.

"Major...I am sorry, but the Resistance leaders have called off the attempt." This caught Dieter by surprise and he hurried him into the nearby restroom. Once inside, he locked the door and barely, just barely, kept his voice down.

"What the bloody hell do you mean by the 'called it off'? What about the thrice damned plan?! The 'betterment of Rotiart'?! Saving our people and our Homeland from a fate worse than death?!" The man shook his head.

"I got the call not ten seconds ago. Mechanos has now made himsefl such a figure that if we were to assassinate him now, we would _never_ be able to take control of the country. There would be chaos, riots in the streets, every general officer with an ounce of power will be vying for control of the nation. It would be nothing short of complete anarchy and civil war should we do this now! Not to mention we so-called 'patriots' would be hung from lamposts or placed before firing squads for our actions just so some one or two star can earn some brownie points with the people for bringing the murderers of the 'Great Leader' to 'justice'."

"What about _our_ deal?!" The man shook his head.

"Sorry Major. I know we discussed getting you and your wing out of Rotiart but I'm afraid that is just not possible. You and your group are now 'Heroes of the Nation'. Your faces are being plastered over every newspaper front page, store window, and advertisement in the nation. Hell, you yourself already have five or six buisnesses that claim that you never go anywhere without you favorite pair of name-brand shirts, socks, and underwear. _Their_ brand of course." Dieter shook his head and turned and, in a moment of weakness, punched the mirror to his immediate right which shattered into hundreds of pieces, some of which cut his hand.

Dieter eyed his wounded hand with some regret and then thought of something.

"I don't need you to smuggle me out by land. Mechanos is likely still planning those bombing runs. I'll simply steal my own plane and fly to Syllia." The man looked at Dieter and sighed.

"With that injury you just dealt yourself? You wouldn't be able to fly a straight line much less fight if you were discovered."

"That's why there's going to be a distraction. Does our friend still have his briefcase?"

"No, he removed the papers and transferred them to a clean case. I have the bomb here. Why?"

"I think the people are growing tired of hearing Mechanos' voice. He's made his point, now it's time to put soem fear into him. Now that he's announced himself Emperor, he's sure to have someone going to incite his advanced age as a reason for a...sudden departure from the plane of existance."

"You're going to blow yourself up with him?"

"Blow myself up? No! Especially not with my ex and my kids in the front seats. No. I'm speaking of a diversion. Simply get this bomb to a secluded location and set it off. The guards will rush and spirit Mechanos to safety, he'll undoubtably think it was an assassination attempt by one of his less loyal officers or by spies and assassins and launch a retaliatory strike against Syllia. My squadron will volunteer to escort the bomber and when we near the target we will shoot the bomber down and then fly to Launces and surrender."

"Major. You're crazy." Dieter chuckled and then turned to leave.

"That's why my wife married me, and also why she left me. Now hit me."

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(Moments later)

Dieter stumbled from the restroom and then saw a soldier nearby. He approached and yelled for him as loud as he could (which considering the crowd cheering outside he had to yell much louder than he thought to be heard). Nevertheless he got the soldier's attention and, once he saw Dieter's black eye and busted hand, he paled and rushed to him.

"Major! What happened to you?!" Dieter coughed crossly and then struggled to straighten himself.

"Never mind me! See to Lord, er, Emperor Mechanos! There is an assassin in the building! I caught him trying to place a bomb near a support which would have brought the whole wall down on Mechanos' head! He fled but not before I got a few punches in! He still had the bomb but I don't know where he went." The soldier nodded and the rushed to his superior who was on the stage. The officer looked to Dieter, paled, and then started shouting alarm.

Dieter was suddenly thrown off his feet by an earth shaking explosion that rattled his teeth as well as everything else in the hallway. The crowds cheers turned to screams as the people bolted for the nearest exits. Moments later, more explosions and Dieter realized that the Resistance must have had some explosives left over. Either that or they just had a bunch of pyromaniacs employed who hadn't blown something up in a while.

As he rushed back to the stage, he found the members of his squadron who, after getting over their shock at his appearance, followed him willingly to the airfield.

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(Workshop One, Under Castle Launces)

The elevator descended down into the depths of the castle. What annoyed Bertram the most was not the creaking and groaning of the metal elevator, it was that it took so blasted long to reach the lower level where the main door to the workshop was. Now Bertram knew his Father hadn't gone off to work at the other workshop or even went to Royalis without someone to watch over the place and the sounds of machinery coming from behind the door seemed to prove that.

As the door swung open, sounds grew louder and Bertram glanced around and saw several machines hidden under covers that obscured their profiles yet he could tell they were aircraft of a sort. As he walked forward and tried to peek under the cover, he heard someone clear their throat.

Bertram turned on a dime, as did the others, and they all came face to face with James de Launces, no longer wearing ornate clothing but rather his old working clothes.

What's more, he was smiling.

James approached and embraced his each of his sons before turning away.

"George, Bertram, it's so good to see the two of you again. Your Mother had hoped to come with me as I put the finishing touches on a few new machines I've built but alas, her new role as Queen has her quite busy. Er...that is to say that _I'm_ not kept busy but still, there are some things that can wait and there are those that cannot. This is one of the cannots."

James walked to a table that held the blueprint of an aircraft on it and motioned Bertram over.

"The Praetorian Aerial Guard at Gloster send me these renderings per my request. Apparently, these are the aircraft that the Gladiator Squadron fought over Gloster. Intel from the pilots say that these aircraft carry a moderate armament, have the capacity for incredible speed and maneuverability, and in the right hands, can make the difference."

Bertram looked over the rendering and then eyed the aircraft's points of interest.

"Father...where's the propellor?" James chuckled.

"There isn't one. See this huge thing on the back of the craft? _That's_ the engine. I've been experimenting with jet propulsion before but never developed anything solid. Up till now, my blueprints had to stay on paper instead of being molded into being. That changed with the attack on Lavonshire."

James unrolled a new type of blueprint across the table and then nodded.

"This is the blueprint for the original: Project 262. Unfortunately, that particular design had to be scrapped due to materials needed for construction are currently in Tellanos. So, I had to improvise and take some keys where I could. I combined the best features of 262 with some of Praetoria's new 'Meteor' Project and created a whole new aircraft capable of matching this new threat."

A new blueprint was layed before them and James motioned for the entire group forward.

"According to reports, the Rotiart jets flew close to five-hundred miles per hour. First versions of the new design were just breaking the four-hundred mark so I had to redesign the engines. In conjunction with that I also redesigned the armament and found an interesting bit of information. The A205s over Gloster managed to shoot down one of the enemy planes and found an interesting fact. It was made of wood, reinforced with a thin layer of aluminum inside and out. In short, while you may not be able to our run the little buggers, if you can draw a bead on them and fire, you'll bring them down."

Bertram waited until James was finished before tapping his shoulder to get his attention.

"Father, was there a reason you asked my group down here?" James sighed but then nodded.

"You seem to have lost your patience. Then again, you _do_ take after your Mother in that regard. Very well. What I called you down here for was to show you your new aircraft."

James motioned for the workers who pulled the covers off the aircraft. The aircraft revealed were blue with silver wings and tail. The squadron designation was clear on the aircraft as was the Syllian markings. Looking at the nose, Bertram saw, instead of a single engine, there were two engines housed in the wing roots and the nose was a solid nose out of which three 30mm cannons and six 20mm cannons protruded.

"The aircraft is known as the J33-A1 'Comet'. The engines are specially built prototypes capable of accelerating the aircraft to just under the five-hundred mile per hour mark. The A1 is built to be a pure-bred interceptor and fighter. However, if you feel the need to, I can have bomb and rocket racks installed under the wings. The rest of the wing will soon be the first all-jet air wing of the Royal Air Force. I...uh...just need to finish up the finishing touches on the other designs first." Bertram eyed the new aircraft then turned to his Father.

"Dad...thanks." James nodded.

"You are my son. Remember that there is nothing a parent won't do for their child. If that means build a bigger and faster aircraft than the enemy then so be it. Or in George's case, build a bigger tank. Bertram...Reyson told me...about you and Flaire." Bertram went wide-eyed and then turned away, clearly embarrassed. James however, chuckled.

"No need to be flustered. It wasn't so long ago that your Mother and I fell in love and from there on you, Josh, Goerge, Thera...all of you were born and I have never regretted a day of my life since. You nearly drove me batty a few times when you all were little but that's to be expected. Just promise me one thing. Take care up there. You said once you'd like to earn an officer's commission so that you could fly prototype aircraft? Well, that's exactly what this is. These ten jets are the only ones in existance. This is going to be their first time going into a real battle. The design is priven but untested. You and your group will be the first active duty wing assigned to these aircraft. As your Father, I would hate to tell both your Mother and your Girlfriend that you were killed flying one of _my_ prototypes. King of Syllia I may be, but I'm not crazy enough to anger _two_ female dragons."

The group laughed at that as James began walking the group through the controls of the new aircraft.

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(Shadowfell Airfield)

Dieter took a moment to ensure that everything he meant to take with him was on his person. The small briefcase held only what he deemed important. His medals and Class A uniform, his photos from home, and, hidden in the liner of the case, several copies of battleplans, flight tactics, indentification numbers, callsigns, squadron and wing assignments, as well as some carefully attained blueprint copies of the new jet aircraft.

He found himself clutching the medallion that Wolff had given him when they'd last discussed their plan. Despite himself, he found himself silently praying that the whole squadron would succeed in this endeavor. He sighed with relief when the rest of his squadron showed up at the hanger, their cases likewise packed and their expressions set. Jyne came forward and saluted him.

"Major. We are ready to depart at your order." Dieter nodded then removed a flight list from his coat pocket.

"Gentlemen, our worst fear has been realized. Mechanos has ordered another Ragnarok Strike. Now, our orders are to remain on the ground until further notice or until the 'assassin' from this morning is caught. Once we begin take-off procedures, likely they will radio ahead that they have unauthorized take-offs from the airfield and will send up an intercept force. That most likely means the 666th. I wounld normally ask if any of you have second thoughts about this, however, given Mechanos tendency to have traitors or their associates interrogated rather..._strenuously_, I'm afraid we can't have any back-outs now."

The men looked around to each other and nodded in unison. It was no secret that Mechanos had always sanctioned torture if he believed there was something of value to gain. A small peep however, got their attention and they wheeled around to see a small shape coming towards them. Voss had halfway drawn his pistol when he recognized the shape and motioned for the others to wait.

"Werner! Wh-What are you doing here? You're supposed to be asleep." The little griffon looked at him and murred. Voss sighed and then began petting the griffon.

"Sir...Werner wants to...he wants to leave with us. If we leave and he remains he will only have the rude dread griffons and the base cook to speak with. He...He sees us as family sir...surely I can fit him into my plane and-" Dieter held up a hand to stay the words.

Werner's appearance had complicated matters but not overly doomed them. Voss just wouyldn't be able to use the JFI-1. As the old saying goes, there was more than one way to skin a cat. He looked around the hanger and his eyes settled on the aircraft he had previously meant to shoot down: the JB-2 Jet Bomber.

"Voss, didn't you get a manual on how to fly the JB-2?" Voss thought for a moment and then nodded.

"Why ask sir? You don't mean that I'm-" Dieter nodded.

"Yep. You want to take Werner with us? You're going to have to abandon the JFI-1 and fly the JB-2. It's got two seats and is meant to be flown by two people but I think one man should handle it. Especially since you don't have any bombs to worry about. They won't arm the bomber until it is time to take-off. It should be fully fueled however and have some extra drop tanks. Now then, since we have to move up our time-table, let's get airborne."

The group dispersed and ran to their aircraft and started the engines. Dieter watched as Voss appeared in the cockpit windows and then watched as the two engines started turning. There was a commotion outside as the ground crews began running in to see what was happening. The crew chief flagged down Dieter and waved for him.

"Major! What's going on?"

"Emergency orders for deployment! Clear the way!"

The ground chief, oblivious to the lie, began waving the aircraft our of the hanger and onto the runway. Voss and the bomber were first, Dieter and Jyne were second, Wolff and Stern were last. As the bomber began rolling forward, the radio came on.

_"Attention Bomber 824G, you are __**not**__ cleared for takeoff at this time! Return to the hagar area at once! Wh-what the hell?! 215 Squadron! You are in direct violation of your standing orders! Shut off the engines and prepare to explain as to what you are doing!"_

"Cat's out of the bag now." Dieter mumbled as he flicked his radio. "Voss! Go!"

The bomber shot forward with a roar and rocketed down the runway. Dieter and his squadron simultaneously pushed the throttle to full and they also shot to full power. As Voss was pulling up the landing gear, Dieter and the 215 were coming up. They took escort formation around the bomber and then they set of on a course east.

Towards Launces.

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Well, here it is. Next chapter will be the flight from Rotiart. Also, for those of you curious, I had originally wanted to base the Syllian jet of the German Me 262 but at the last second decided on the American P-59 Airacomet.

Next Chapter: Fugitive Hope.


	25. Fugitive Hope

Man I feel old.

To be honest, I never knew how fast years can pass you by. Here we are on the cusp of 2016, and here I am playing video games during my off-hours that cam out when I was a kid of anywhere from six to fifteen years old. I mean seriously, just yesterday I fired up the old PS2 and the NES (yes I still have mine) and you know the first games I reached for?

SOCOM 1, 2, 3, Combined Assault, Suikoden 3, and after swapping in my PS1 Memory Card, the original Spyro trilogy and lastly Medal of Honor. On the NES I grabbed the **Original** Mario Bros., Demon Sword, and Legend of Zelda.

Back then you got a sense of fulfillment when you actually _beat_ a game. These days it's all too easy...for example, the SOCOM series, the first one I got when I was 13, I never actually beat the game on Ensign (Easy) difficulty. SOCOM 2, I got to Commander (Hard), SOCOM 3 and Combined Assault I beat them on Admiral (INSANE).

Man...for those of you who know what I mean, make a list of games you have played through the years and then search for their original release dates. You **will** be surprised.

Anyway, enough nostalgia, on with the story!

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 24: Fugitive Hope

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The sun was sinking off in the distance. Dieter and his squadron had flipped their radios to the frequency that they used for personal communication in order to escape from both the incensed ramblings of the Shadowfell Airfield commander as well as the cheers of encouragement, if misplaced, from the ground forces they passed over. It appeared as if the word hadn't gotten out from Shadowfell yet and they were now near the border with Tellanos.

In the days before the war, Shadowfell had been a mere fifty miles from the Tellanian border. The only thing keeping the city safe was the griffon nests and the active volcano known to Shadowfell's citizens as 'The Old Guardian'. There was also a strong magnetic field in the area that interfered with compasses and made the maze of caverns below nearly impossible to navigate. Even at this altitude, Dieter watched as the heading compass spun like a top.

The stars were coming out and the sun was going down so they had enough of an idea as to their heading. Once the sun was down, the object of lunar navigation was to keep the North Star off their left wings and to keep their noses alligned with the series of stars that formed the constellation 'Draco Alpha'.

'When the sun would rise the next day, Draco Alpha would greet the new day and when the sun set, Draco Omega would bid the day farewell.'

It was an old Syllian tale about two dragons who performed such great works upon the earth that they were granted places in heaven as the Guardians of the Dawn and Dusk. They, along with the North Star 'Astral' and the southern constellation 'Hephedran' were the Watchers of the Night and charged with guiding lost souls on their way towards the new dawn. Dieter vaguely wondered what Syllia would be like. He had only seen glimpses of Launces in maps and old books but had never visited the city. Nor did he think he ever would have before this last week. He thought about the medallion that hung around his neck that Wolff had goven him.

It was a medallion that was said to ward off misfortune from those who had realized the severity of their sins and give them the chance to repent.

_(So much blood and so many innocents...what must I do to redeem myself? Must I continue to repent till my last breath? Must I devote myself wholeheartedly to the cause of peace? Simply pray for redemption and salvation? Or must I die in battle helping to undo that which I have done?)_

These thoughts invaded his mind constantly. He ran through the thoughts constant;y and even thought about radioing Wolff and asking his opinion. Then-

_"Major! This is Voss, we've got a problem here! We're hot!"_ Before Dieter could reply, he heard Stern laugh.

_"If you're hot then crack a window, or at least hit the fans!"_ Then a reply, aggitated.

_"Not __**that**__ kind of hot Stern! I mean we are __**hot! H-O-T!**__ This bird is armed and the weapons are __**LIVE**__!"_ Dieter paled as he heard Stern and Wolf swear.

"Do you mean that you have Ragnarok bombs loaded and armed?!"

_"That is affermative. We have one Ragnarok bomb, armed and ready. We also have what looks to be a Ton of standard explosives. Werner went back to relieve himself and then saw the hatch to the bomb bay was open. Poor little guy was half scared out of his mind. He's currently cowering under my seat."_

"Voss, can you deactivate it?"

_"Major, you know the answer to that. I'm a fighter pilot, not EOD. The best I can do is either find a place to crash this plane and bail out or drop the bomb somewhere where it won't do any damage."_

"Well, we'd better think of something fast otherwise we cross the border we'll be over Tellanian territory and I _don't _think they'll forgive us for dropping a nuke on their soil, even if we dropped it in a desert or frozen tundra. I also don't fancy dropping it on any of _our_ territory."

_"This is Wolff. This may sound crazy but, what about the volcano?"_ Dieter went wide-eyed at this and keyed the radio with such force he nearly crushed the mike.

"The **VOLCANO**! Are you out of your mind Wolff? There is no telling what an explosion of that magnitude will do to the volcano! It could cause it to erupt and remember, Shadowfell is merely fifty miles away and the city of Gaton is even closer!"

_"No. What I mean is that the lava could possibly destroy the bomb before it detonates!"_ This time, Jyne spoke up.

_ "What if it doesn't? That thing blows it'll give everyone from Gaton to Tiburan one hell of a hot foot!"_

_ "Just listen! Lava is hot enough to melt anything! If the bomb falls __**into**__ the volcano and explodes, the worse that'll happen is that the rim of the volcano crumbles. What you're all talking about is the worse case scenario!"_ Dieter grimaced as he tried to picture an atomic blast in the heart of a volcano.

"Voss...can you do it? What you're talking about is a pin-point strike." The silence from Voss concerned Dieter for a moment.

_"Yeah...I think I can do it. I've locked in the...uh...gyroscope, whatever the hell that is, and the bomber is on a straight, smooth, level flight. All I've got to do is release the latch on the bomb bay doors and...ah crap."_

"I didn't like the sound of that. What the hell did you do Voss?!"

Dieter was answered when the bomb bay doors on the bomber suddenly dropped and a single bomb fell from the bay. Dieter's heart leapt to his throat and his face went white as a linen cloth.

"Crap! All planes climb! Climb!" The jets rushed to climb above the bomber when the radio came back on.

_"No need to panic, Major! That wasn't it. Eh...Werner stepped on a switch to release a standard bomb..."_

"Voss...when we land, I'm going to kill you. All fighters climb to eighteen thousand feet and await the signal to engage afterburners from Voss. Voss, level off at fifteen thousand and when we cross over The Guardian, drop the bomb. The _atomic_ one." At that moment, Stern came on the radio.

_"Eh, Major. What about we __**not**__ drop the bomb but instead deliver it to Launces? I'm sure they could figure out a way to disarm it."_

"The thought did cross my mind Stern, believe me. Still, we don't know how unstable or how delicate that bomb is. My guess is that someone on the ground fucked up by arming the bomb prematurely and as far as I'm concerned I _don't_ want the bomb rocking about as we try to land on a Syllian airfield. Hell, I wouldn't even fly this thing over a combat zone. For all we know about atomic weapons, one stray bullet or richochet could cause a mid-air explosion."

_"Copy that Major, I'll steer clear of any engagements. Okay, since no one is objecting to me releasing the bomb, I'm lining up the sights now. Here's hoping it don't bounce."_

Dieter watched as the lumbering jet bomber edged this way and that lining up the approach.

_"Okay. Horizontal is stable. Verticle is stable. Releasing in five... four... three... two... one... Release!"_

This time, a much larger bomb fell from the forward bomb bay and fell towards the volcano. Dieter slammed the throttle to full and flipped the switch for the afterburners.

"All aircraft, climb and engage afterburners! Full power, NOW!"

Dieter's aircraft rocketted forward as the afterburners kicked in and nor was he the only one. Jyne, Wolff, and Stern's jets were also zooming upwards with bright orange flames shooting from the exhaust ports of the engines. Looking at Voss' bomber, he saw the same coming from the bomber's twin engines.

He looked at the clock and swore.

"Dammit! Does anybody have eyes on that bomb! Did anybody count the time down for detonation?"

To his shock, all his comrades answered negative.

"Then who the hell is clocking that damn bo-"

Dieter was cut off as a huge gust of wind buffeted his jet. Followed by a tremendous _BOOM_ that rattled the canopy and that familiar sense of dread. Daring himself to look back, a large pillar of fire and lava shot from the volcano along with a massive mushroom cloud that he guessed was the trademark of an atomic blast. Yet, somehow, the worst case scenario didn't happen.

The volcano didn't crumble in on itself or explode outward as he had feared. Rather, the lava seemed to have incinerated the radioactive particles and all that remained was the obvious signs of an explosion. With the exception of the mushroom cloud, it displayed all the trademarks of an eruption or at least a flare up.

Dieter switched the radio to the Gaton frequency and heard all manner of curses, confusion, and chaos. Bravely, he picked up the reciever.

"Attention Gaton Militia this is...Flight 978 out of Carilo, we have just spotted a _massive_ eruption from the Guardian. Please initiate emergency protocols immediately!"

_"Copy that 978. We heard the blast but didn't know what the hell it was. By the way, you haven't seen a light bomber in the area have you?"_ Dieter's knew he shouldn't stay on this frequency too long but curiousity got the better of him.

"I think we saw one en route to Tolbina just a few minutes ago. Why?"

_"Bastard'll probably be coming up one bomb short because one of the locals is complaining about an aircraft that blew up his outhouse. Almost blew up the farmer too. I think he's more upset about his magazines and newspapers that were stored in there rather than the outhouse."_

"Well, what can you say? There _is_ a war on."

_"Apparently."_

"Now then, I bid you good night, I'd best switch back to my regular frequency before my supervisor has my head."

Dieter switched back to his frequency and couldn't help himself. He keyed the mike and allowed his humor to influence his voice.

"Hey boys, let's hope none of you have to take a piss. According to the ground control down there, Voss just blew up the only outhouse in twenty miles with that first bomb he dropped. Heh, had the poor farmer below convinced it was the beans."

They all shared a laugh as they continued on east.

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The course Dieter and his group took weaved them in and out of air space that they knew scouts up at this time of night and also away from cities and major metropolitan areas.

Not that there were many left in Tellanos.

Mechanos had been brutally efficient in dealing with his enemies. Tellanos was a shell of its former self. The railroads that once connected the nation now lie in ruins, slowly being pieced back together by a labor force of Tellanian POWs and civilians. What few cities remained intact were either bases for the Tellanian Resistance or 'Reclaimed' towns for Rotiart.

The Reclaimed towns were towns in which there had been resistance to the invasion and Rotarian high ranking officers had forced the citizens out and then parcelled the town out to Rotarian civilians, soldiers, and their families in order to make a 'small' supplement to their own salaries. For example, if you wanted a home overlooking the Southern Ocean, all you had to do was find an appropriations officer, give him the location you were interested in, he'd find the location and send a letter of reference to the commander in charge of that spot and then the commander would send a parcel to the interested party containing the basic information of the property, the price tag, and the monthly installments.

It seemed ludicrous to Dieter that one could simply pay 19.99 per month and within a year or two you owned the land and house that had once been the property of another. For a further payment you could even get the people who once owned the land hired out to you as servants.

_(More of Mechanos' doing I'll bet. It wouldn't surprise me to learn the bastard was behind this. Rotiart was once a nation built upon slavery but that practice was cast away decades ago. It seems he's going to revive the old traditions along with the new...)_

Dieter checked his map and the stars and then gazed north and saw the spotlights over what was left of the city of Chamberlain and sighed.

_(We've got to find a way to end this madness somehow...)_ He flipped his radio on and nodded to the map.

"All planes, we are now passing Chamberlain. Come to course 174, south-east to continue to Launces. Once we cross the Syllian border, I'll begin broadcasting."

He gazed at his fuel tanks and then flipped on the wing tanks and dropped the belly tank. If his math was correct, the belly tank would get them to Launces and they'd drop them just outside the city.

Provided, that was, they weren't attacked or ambushed between here and there...

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(Launces)

Bertram saw in the cockpit of the new jet fighter as it sat on the runway. He fingered the throttle nervously awaiting the order to takeoff. His group had been ordered into a night mission to patrol the route from the Tellanian border, to Callen's Hill, and Launces. Once they turned back and reached Callen's Hill, the second patrol group would take off so that they could land and refuel.

Behind him, Ayatane and Sahne sat in their jets, after them was Kani and Lee, and then there was Miller and Holt, Cyriaque, and lastly the Poole brothers, Josh and Jay. These people plus him made up the entire A Wing of the Launces 1st Air Wing.

Bertram saw a green light begin flashing from the control tower and Bertram keyed his radio.

_"Launces Control to Alpha Flight, you are cleared for takeoff. Save travels."_

"Copy that Control, this is Alpha 1, callsign Paladin. Beginning takeoff procedures now."

Bertram released the brakes on the landing gear and revved the engines to full speed and felt the jet begin rolling down the runway. The speedometer passed 130 mph and he felt the nose beginning to lift.

"Paladin here, I have lift. Pulling back on the stick to gain some air."

The nose pitched up more, the tail and wings cleared the ground and a few moments later, he checked the altimeter and nodded at the safe altitude.

"This is Paladin, I have a safe takeoff. Proceeding to patrol course 305, northeast. Awaiting squadron and then proceeding to night patrol."

As he checked behind him, he saw the other aircraft come up and join him in formation and together they climbed to altitude. As he settled in, a red light flashed on the radio.

_"Emergency! Emergency! Alpha Flight, our scouts report sever strange looking aircraft crossing the border and are headed your way! Heading is 174, high rate of speed!"_

"Paladin copies. All aircraft: safeties off. Looks like the enemy wants to play with us tonight."

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(Near Callen's Hill)

Dieter flipped the radio to a Syllian frequency, hoping that he was within range of Launces so that they could hear him. He had delayed contact because of a small flight of F10s near the border and didn't want to risk alerting them with unknown chatter. This diversion had also force them to burn the rest of the fuel in their wing tanks and they were on their interior tanks.

The fuel gauge was reading his jet at half and upon checking with them, he discovered that the others were barely better off.

"Attention. Attention. Launces Aerial Command, this is Major Dieter Muntz of the Rotiart Air Aggressor Force. I and my flight of five are defecting from Rotiart and I am requesting landing directions. We have no ammunition and are running low on fuel. Anyone there, please respond."

Nothing.

"Attention. Launces Aerial Command, this is Major Dieter Muntz of the Rotiart Air Aggressor Force, 215 Squadron. ID Number 010244677. My flight of five are defecting from Rotiart and are requesting permission to approach Launces Air Space and land. Again, we wish to defect. Anyone there, please respond."

Still nothing.

Dieter sighed and then began scanning the ground in hopes of at least finding a soft spot to land. Just then, he glimpsed something out of the corner of his eye and then pulled back on the stick just as green tracers buzzed under his plane. There was static and then a voice.

_"Oh dear, oh dear, Major. It seems that you're not the only one who listens to Syllian radio frequencies nowadays is it?"_ That voice immediately grated on Dieter's ears as he remembered it.

"Alfred Marks, commander of the 666th. So you must be the dog that Mechanos sent to bring us to heel."

_"If that were the case, Major, I could have intercepted your flight after that little 'incident' in Gaton. To be honest, I was convinced you wanted to prove your loyalty to the Empire by dropping an atomic bomb on Launces. Imagine my surprise when your bomber dropped the bomb into an active volcano. I became curious and decided to follow you to your destination. I must say I never imagined in my wildest dreams that you were a traitor. I've already broadcast your little 'transmission' back to Shadowfell and Mechanos has already signed your death warrents. Don't worry though. You'll still be a hero. Mechanos isn't foolish enough to publicly announce that one of our nation's greatest heroes had defected. Rather, you were shot down while carrying out a top secret mission over Syllia...yes...I think that story will be rather believable."_ Dieter grimaced and then dodged another burst.

"Better men than you have tried to kill me Marks. None have succeeded."

_"Until now that is. Look at my plane's position as compared to the bomber and poor Sergeant Voss."_ Dieter looked up and paled as he saw Marks' jet slightly above and behind the bomber, perfect position to attack it and bring it down with one well aimed burst.

"Voss! Evade! Evade!" Dieter keyed the radio and then, prayed that someone was listening.

"Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is Major Dieter Muntz of the 215! Have come under attack from elements of the RAAF, 666th Squadron! Requesting assistance from any Syllian aircraft in the vicinity! Extreme distress! Repeat: Extreme distress!"

_"Bad choice Major. All fighters, annihilate the traitors. For the Emperor!"_

At that moment, one of the jets closing on Voss burst into flames as a roaring filled the skies. Dieter's radio piped up.

_"Attention 215 Squadron, this is Alpha Flight of the Launces 1st Air Wing, Major Bertram de Launces, callsign Paladin, commanding. Resume to course 174 and continue to Launces, emergency clearance has been granted. We'll hold these bastards off of you!"_

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Bertram had, quite honestly, been shocked when he heard the radio crackle to life with Dieter's voice. Most impossible was the fact he was defecting. He had actually been coming in to escort them to Launces when he heard the mayday call and saw tracers arcing through the darkened sky. Arming the 20mm cannons, he lined up the nose with the closest enemy jet and opened fire.

The burst was spot on and apparently the intel about the Rotiart jets being made of wood was true as well for the plane burned like an oil soaked rag as it fell. He pitched the nose up and then wheeled around to face another enemy fighter. He spotted Dieter's aircraft and keyed the radio.

"Attention 215 Squadron, this is Alpha Flight of the Launces 1st Air Wing, Major Bertram de Launces, callsign Paladin, commanding. Resume to course 174 and continue to Launces, emergency clearance has been granted. We'll hold these bastards off of you!"

_"I thank you. Heh, it seems that day you and I discussed in Avalon has finally arrived."_

"We can discuss it later, right now, I need an easy way to distinguish your jets from theirs."

_"Very well. First off, my wing is flying defencive formation around the large bomber you see in the middle of the formation. All of our jets have our squadron number '215' painted somewhere on the fuselage and we have blue and white highlights. Marks' jets have red and gold highlights and their number '666' painted stark white on the fuselage."_

"Copy that. I've got a bead on one of the bastards now!" Bertram's guns opened up and slammed into the enemy jet with enough force that the wings ripped off and the engine exploded." As he turned another jet was shot down and he heard the voice of Holt through the radio.

_"Hey Major! Is it just me or do these things look like bombs once the wings and engine have been taken off? They sure fall like them."_

_ "Major! Mystic here, how do we know their request to defect is genuine?"_

Aware that Dieter was likely listening, Bertram took the moral high ground.

"Of all the times I've crossed swords with him he's never once lied to me. I don't believe he'd pick now of all times to start. Plus, why would the 666th try to kill him if he wasn't defecting? If they still _did_ have a bomb they wouldn't try to destroy the bomber. They can't do any damage to the city. Defection is the only plausible explanation."

_ "Very well sir. I'll go along with you."_ Bertram replied dryly.

"Nice to see I've got your trust."

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Marks was furious. Not only was Dieter and his traitors escaping but now the Syllians had jets that could actually match theirs. He watched as he lost two more of his sixteen fighters and then scanned the skies for Dieter's group.

_(Come hell or high water, I will __**not**__ allow those traitors to live a moment longer!)_

Marks pitched his jet into a steep roll and aimed at the closest jet to him. He smiled as he saw the number and clicked the safety off of the rotary 30mm.

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Dieter could see the lights of Launces in the distance and sighed, all the pent up stress finally leaving as they neared safety. He looked around to his unit and smiled. They had all made it out alive. He heard another jet and looked to see what he hoped was Bertram's jets but was greeted with the horrific sight of Marks' jet baring down on him, the rotary cannon on the nose revving up to fire.

At that moment, tracers lit up the sky as Jyne whipped his fighter around and began engaging Marks.

"Holy! Jyne! You're armed!"

_"Affermative sir. Seems I was the only one who had ammo in the magazines."_

Marks, seeing the danger, broke off the attack and began to retreat as Bertram's flight returned.

Dieter saw his old friend and comrade fire burst after burst at Marks who seemed to dodge every single one of them. They rolled, dove, climbed, yawed, turned, flipped, and rolled some more trying to get behind one another but Jyne clearly outmatched Marks. Then, all of a sudden, Jyne's guns emitted a '_clang_' that could be heard easily in the sky.

His guns had jammed.

Marks, taking advantage of Jyne's predicament, pulled hard on the stick, kicked the rudder over, extended the flaps and flipped his jet over onto its right wing and rotated it on that axis. As Jyne passed, a mere split second, Marks fired the rotary 30mm point blank into the jet.

Dieter watched as time slowed down and he saw each and every round impact Jyne's aircraft. Six rounds impacted the nose, sending pieces of debris flying. Next was the wings, the engine, and finally the tail. Jyne's crippled jet began billowing smoke as the engine caught fire and seized. Dieter quickly clicked his radio.

"Jyne! Bail out! Bail out! Eject! Eject! Eject!" Still, he could see it was too late.

Marks closed the distance and opened fire again, this time with the 30mm _and_ both 20mm cannons. The 20mm rounds went wide and started ripping the wings apart and the 30mm shredded the tail section before reaching up and peppering the cockpit. Dieter felt his heart sink when he saw Jyne come around, the canopy busted and stained red with blood.

The radio brought him back and he clicked it on. Jyne's raspy voice came through.

_"M-Major...listen to me...d-do not mourn me...I-I only wish that, I could have seen my family when this is all over...Tell them...for me...Tell them I died a hero...doing what was right...and not what some lunatic told me to do...Promise...me..."_ Dieter held the mike and then clicked it.

"I swear to you Jyne...I'll help end the war...and then your family will know the truth of it all, I swear."

Jyne didn't have the chance to reply as Marks leveled the guns again and fired another point blank burst. This time, the rounds set fire to the fuel tank and jet burned for a moment as it fell, then, with a loud '_bang!'_ the jet exploded, with it's end, came also the end of Jyne Grant. Dieter watched Marks retreat and angrily squeezed the mike as if he held Marks' by the throat.

"Marks! I swear before this war is over, I'll kill you! I'll kill you you son of a bitch! You hear me?! I'll rake your jet with as much ammunition as I can possible manage and then I'll consign your broken and bullet-ridden corpse to the deepest darkest parts of the ocean! A bastard and a murderer such as you would not even be allowed a place in the infernal abyss! Hell itself would vomit you back out!"

There was no reply for a moment until...

_"I look forward to meeting you again __**Major**__...perhaps when you aren't in so foul-tempered a mood and perhaps you will actuall be __**armed**__ at that point. Until then."_

The radio went silent and Dieter stared at the wreckage where Jyne's aircraft had gone down and gave his fallen friend a salute before aiming the jet towards Launces. Through his radio, he could hear Bertram's voice.

_"This is Alpha Flight signing in. We are four extra and requesting use of the emergency runway. Our extras don't have any fuel remaining and are in a dire spot."_

_ "Control copies Alpha Flight. By the way Bertram, your Father wants to meet with these defectors as soon as they've landed."_

_ "Copy that."_ Apparently this got Stern excited as he keyed the mike.

_"Excuse me, Major de Launces? We've been asked to meet your Father? Archduke James de Launces?"_ There was laughter as Bertram responded.

_"Indeed. Although he isn't Archduke anymore. After the incident at Lavonshire, the King abdicated the throne so that his wife could return to Praetoria and become the new Empress. As a result, Father was recently crowned as James the First, the new King of Syllia."_

Needless to say, _**THAT**_ got Dieter's attention.

"The King you say? So that makes you a Prince doesn't it?"

_"Indeed it does. Why do you ask?"_ Dieter chuckled nervously.

"I'm just curious as to why your Father, the new King of Syllia, would want to meet the enemy pilot who's been taking shot after shot at you. That's all." This got Bertram laughing.

_"Afraid of being locked up in a tower somewhere?"_

"No, more afraid of having my head chopped off."

_"Don't be so dark-humored. We don't behead people anymore...Not since the headsman misplaced his axe that is...Nowadays, we simply place them before a firing squad or in an electric chair."_

"You're kidding right? Right? Bertram?"

Laughter filled the radio as Bertram and the rest of the group laughed. Eventually, even Dieter had to chuckle a bit as he brought his jet safely down.

They had reached safety...(he hoped).

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Okay, whoo. So, another update for you all to look at.

Dieter and his squadron, minus poor Jyne, have made it to Launces. but now they must go before the King! The very man who's son Dieter had engaged in battle time after time!

What will happen? Your guess is as good as mine!

By the way, a little military terminology for you. EOD stands for 'Explosive Ordnance Disposal'. It is one of the most if not _the_ most dangerous job in the military. They defuse everything from unexploded bombs and old landmines to IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices).

So, you see a soldier with an EOD patch on their sleeve, no matter what country you're from be it America, Britain, France, Germany, Belgium, Canada, Japan, etc., shake their hand and tell them thanks for making the world just a little bit safer. (And a lot less likely to explode in our faces).

Also for those of you who don't know what an outhouse is. An outhouse is basically an outdoor toilet or outdoor 'water closet' (WC) or whatever you guys call them in Europe. Anyway, ever since the original gag/joke aired on Dukes of Hazzard in the 1980's, blowing up an outhouse has become a well known comedy gag for farmers and other country folk.

Heh, I remember a Marine friend of mine, he told me a joke about how during mortar training one day, someone accidentally sent a dummy round through the window of the officer's latrine. He said the round all but landed right in the lap of a young Lieutenant fresh out of Annapolis.

Guess he really needed to use the head (Navy slang for 'toilet') after that. Hope he was wearing his brown pants. (See what I did there?) XD

As always, please rate and review. By the way, going to take a little break from Bertram for a while and shift the focus to his brother Joshua for the next update.

Next Time: The Shores of Broken Anchor


	26. The Shores of Broken Anchor

Hey everyone! I hope ya'll had a nice Christmas and New Year celebrations. I finally had enough notes compiled to write the next chapter of World Fury, so ya'll can consider it a late Christmas present. Don't mind the coffee stains...don't look at me like that, I needed _something_ to keep me focused and alert and it was either coffee or caffine soft drinks and I'm trying to cut back on those.

For those of you curious about the code used, I simply wrote the letters of the alphabet down and then went by the QWERT keys to assign the letters. For ease of understanding, I shall write the code in bold and the transaltion in italics.

Example: **DTXXB.** _HELLO._

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 25: The Shores of Broken Anchor

_*_*_*_*_*8-8

Mechanos went through the motions as he had rehearsed them, the welcoming of honored guests, the assigning of the officers, the opening of the first deployment orders, etcetera, etcetera, yet inside he was still fuming. The defection of not only Dieter Muntz but the _entire_ 215 Squadron had been a blow to him as both a leader and as a man. People were beginning to ask questions and their families were wondering why they weren't returning home after 'deployments'. Thankfully Marks had managed to convince them that it was all for the best that they no longer question and instead spread the lie that they had been transferred to Damoneni for continued strikes against Praetoria and also to assist their allies with holding Tullinar in check.

Tullinar...a loosely allied collection of traders, farmers, volunteer soldiers, and mercenaries that drew their own borders and made their own 'city-states' and thus coexisted through trade within the city and between the states. A nation that in the days of Empires, had been split between Rotiart and Praetoria and was a constant source of several defeats and victories. The Tullinar Union had existed since the early 1800s and was considered to be a small nation that would rather capitulate to an invading force rather than fight.

_(Let that be a lesson to me in my old age)_ Mechanos thought, _(Never trust Callinian rumors...)_

Callinar had invaded by sea and Damoneni by land. Within two weeks, the capital city of Polans was surrounded and the noose was tightening yet, from the confusion arose a group of citizen-soldiers calling themselves 'the Resistance'. Their symbol, a blue 'T' affixed to a red anchor and a black 'U' was a common sight on destroyed Damonenian and Callinian fortifications and emplacements. Most troublesome was a group thathad been identified as the former United Armed Forces 1267th Volunteer Regiment, the so-called 'Wolverines'.

Thanks to the Wolverines and various other groups, along with Callinar's surrender (which added insult to injury as they surrendered the day the 215th defected) Tullinar was now in the perfect position to not only force the Damonenians back but, if they allied with Syllia, they would now be able to strike at cities along Rotiart's coast and even some cities within the borders.

Hence the reason that the supercarrier _Neu Horizont_, though untested, was being launched and, with an escort of three Kaiser-class fleet carriers, five Zerstörung-class battleships, five Tyrann-class battlecruisers and various cruisers and destroyers was meant to obliterate the enemy by means of a 'scorched earth' policy. The city of Polans and all surrounding settlements though to be harboring or hiding Resistance operatives and soldiers were to be bombed into oblivion so as to 'teach a lesson' to the upstart nation who their betters were. There was only one small problem with Mechanos' plan. He had recieved word from a spy in Royalis that Joshua de Launces, the Captain who had sunk the _Whirlwind_ was en route to the port of Broken Anchor.

With a little luck, perhaps that would be all that was required to end the Tullinar Resistance and further weaken Syllia's alliances. If not...

As the crew of the _Neu Horizont_ boarded their new vessel and started out of port, Mechanos glanced at the imposing ships that lay at anchor on the far side of the harbor. He made plans to rush the construction of these ships and then made a note to have the port of Lorne expanded to accomodate these new ships. For once they left the construction yards, these vessels could not return.

_*_*_*_8-8-8-8

(_Somewhere off the coast of Tullinar, presumably near Broken Anchor)_

The sound of rain, broken by brief claps of thunder, and the wipers on the windows were the only sounds on the bridge of the _RNV Beowulf_ as the ship steamed towards the target area. The _Beowulf_ was centered in the formation and surrounded by the three destroyers _Aurora, Solent, _and _Minerva_ along the bow, starboard, and port sides. The cruiser _Minotaur_ sailed behind it and the _Bastion _brought up the rear.

They were part of a larger formation with six other destroyers, four cruisers, two battleships, one fleet carrier, two escort carriers, and one dragon carrier sailing with them but in this rain and cursed fog Joshua couldn't see a blasted thing. Not even his dragon-sight could pierce the fog. He turned to the navigator on the bridge.

"Dawson, what's our position?" The ship's navigator, Dawson, looked at the map on the bridge and then studied the notations he had made on it.

"According to the map, sir, we are one hour to our target. Once there, we simply have to launch attacks against the fortified locations." Though his draconic mind had already memorized the recon locations of the enemy emplacements, he had built a habit of double-checking maps in case they were either out of date or incomplete. He glanced at his XO, Lieutenant Anne Roberts, and then looked back to the pallid grey fog that obscured their vision.

Though regs forbid fraternization with a subordinate, it was, of course, known to happen. Joshua caught the ghost of a glance back at him from Roberts as he strode towards the Radar station and then looked onto the screen as the sweeper moved around the circular display.

"Still nothing, Thompson?" The operator shook his head.

"Nothing except for us and the fleet. If we're as close to land as Ensign Dawson says, I should be seeing something on the display." Josh sighed and then checked the instrument panels.

"You're set at the correct range and frequency, yes?" Thompson nodded. Josh turned and grimaced at the map.

"Max range of the radar array is what, one-hundred miles max?"

"Yes, sir. Current settings have us painting everything within thirty miles. Any farther than that and I'll start having ghosts sir."

'Having Ghosts' was radar slang for false targets. A radar sweeper used radio waves to detect objects either on land, ocean surface, or in the air and the signal would be bounced back to the receiver and appear on the screen as a 'blip'. The further out you were, the more the waves degenerated and broke apart until they couldn't return or worse, misidentified the target. At maximun range, the chances of radar having a confirmed hit was roughly 15%.

A flock of birds at eighty miles would appear no different on the sceen than a swarm of bombers. Woe befall the commander who ordered a full flight into the air to intercept a flock of jaybirds or, as the old saying went, 'send the eagles on a wild goose chase'.

At the risk of getting drenched in the torrential downpour, Josh slipped on a watchman's leather raincoat and hat and went out onto the port wing of the bridge and stood there. To the casual observer, he would appear to be enjoying the smell of a stirred up sea breeze. Yet, the crew knew that dragon senses were ten if not twenty times better than a human's. Josh stood there, hands on the railing aside the other port watchman, eyes closed, and seemingly meditative. As Josh drew in deep breaths, the different scents began to distinguish themselves.

First and foremost, was iron and steel. No surprise there as he was on a ship. Next was the seabreeze. A wonderful scent tinged with sea-salt that seemed to invigorate any who called themselves 'men of the sea' or 'women of the sea', in case of Anne and the some eighty-seven other women aboard his ship. He also smelled the scent of the crewmen on lookout duty and mentally reminded himself to chunk Bilson overboard once the storm was gone. The lookout, Seaman 2nd Class Bilson, was a good sailor and an excellent watchman but the man had a tendency to be absent-minded about certain things. One of those things was hygiene. The man only took a shower once every week when on his own time and three times a week whenever he was on Mess duty. And by the smell of him, he was _long_ overdue for one.

The other obvious things were there. Smoke from the stacks, gunpowder from the turrets, rain-mixed sweat from the deckhands who were moving about below. He even caught a faint hint of the fuel used in the aircraft aboard the carriers. A few moments later, he began to smell other things. Mud, rubber, concrete, sand, rock, fish, and wood. He turned, went back inside and looked to Thompson.

"Increase range on the radar to forty miles." The operator did as he was told and on the next sweep of the radar, the screen all but lit up around the extreme edge.

"Radar contacts! Bearing 347 to 026!" Josh nodded.

"Send word to all vessels that we have arrived. Have the landing ships made contact yet?" Anne shook her head.

"No, last contact was with the _SS Cabulla_ roughly one hour ago. They seemed to think the Navy was to weaken the enemy beachhead before they disembarked their troops." Josh sighed and uttered the one word that transended all branches of service.

"Snafu." As one the crew on the bridge shook their heads and said aloud.

"Situation Normal: All Fucked Up!" Josh nodded and then turned back to the pallid weather before them.

"Well, at least it isn't Fubar. Helm, left full rudder. All turrets shift aim to starboard side. All engines ahead Flank speed. XO, sound Battlestations." Anne saluted and walked to the ship's PA system.

"Attention all crew, we have arrived at our target location. General Quarters! General Quarters! All hands, man your battlestations!" The switch was flipped on and a blaring alarm pierced the den of the rain and thunder. A moment later, the bridge phone rang. Josh saw the light indicator for the Radio room was on meaning they had recieved a communication from a ship in the fleet. He calmly answered the phone.

_"Captain! Report from the carriers, the weather is too rough for them to launch their planes! Admiral Behn is issuing a stand down order."_ Josh immediately became angry. The crewmen watching him saw his face turn red as he scowled.

"Cal, put me in communication with the Admiral. _Now!_"

_"Can't sir! After issuing the order, the Admiral ordered all vessels to go dark and engage radio silence. We are to pull back for now and we will attack when the fog lets up tomorrow. Also recieved a message from the troop transports, they have also dropped anchor in a shallow part of the ocean near the Calumet Reef. They will meet with us in the morning and we shall proceed from there."_ Josh slammed the phone back down and then turned his gaze to the crew.

"XO...stand down all stations. Admiral's ordered us to sit on our thumbs until the fog lifts and the transports decide to quit their..._vacation_ and join us." Josh felt the tension leak out of the ship like air from a balloon. He also noticed several junior crewmen balling their fists and one even went as far as to punch the hatch. He nodded to the crewman and then went to his Captain's chair and sat down, his forefinger and thumb rubbing the area between his eyes as Anne issued the order through the PA.

"Captain..." Josh looked up to see another of the juniors standing before him.

"Yes, Linehold, what is it?"

"Why didn't the Admiral give the okay?" Josh sighed and then nodded.

"If I had to guess, politics. Scuttlebutt is that Admiral Behn is being considered for a third star and a wonderful retirment package upon recieving it. He's old school; born into a whaling family. He was actually _born_ on his father's boat in the middle of a whale hunt in 1870; started his career as a gunner's mate aboard the _RNV Triton_ in 1889." Josh was recalling everything from textbooks at the Naval Academy.

"He looks down on the submarine corps as a 'coward's way to fight', he despises the dragoncarriers and aircraft carriers. If he had his way, we'd be lining up single file against the enemy fleet and pounding them with broadside after broadside. Now I don't dislike the man, far from it, in fact his knowledge was extremely valuable when we were fighting Callinar. However, he is set in the ways of paddlewheelers, ironclads, and whaling fleets. He doesn't believe, however, in fighting an enemy while their pants are down. He wants a straight up, honest brawl."

He looked around to his crewmen and then sighed.

"No matter how different our views, the fact remains that he is in command of this operation. We will stand down for now." As the crew went about securing everything from battlestations, Anne came up to him and leaned in close.

"Josh, you _know_ as well as I that the enemy will attack us at the crack of dawn. Unless we want to be sunk, we need to do something."

"With what forces? The landing craft are still at anchor and what few Marines we have assigned to the ship lack any kind of landing equipment unless we launch them in the lifeboats. We would need the Marine groups of every single ship in the fleet if we wanted to engage the enemy. Plus, our orders are clear. Do not open fire. I see no justifiable reason to disregard that order unless we had allies on the beachhead that were in danger, which we do not, nor have we had contact with the Resistance cell in this area to suggest that they need help." Josh then looked around on the brodge and noticed that only Anne was paying attention to him. He gently eased over to her, a mischievious look in his eyes.

"Now that that's out of the way, _if_ there was, say, a distress call from the beach along with sufficient gunfire, and perhaps an explosion or two." He let that hang in the air for a moment before continueing.

"I would have no possible reason to deny assistance to our allies. Nor could the Admiral find fault with our tactics unless he wished to sink his own ship by denying our allies in the Resistance the help they need in a desperate time." Anne nodded and discreetly left the bridge.

Josh turned back to his crew and lowered the brim of his cap. The time on his watch was ten past eight, his shift was over but he had the feeling he ought to remain on the bridge for some..._odd_ reason. A smile creapt onto his face as he settled in for the night.

_(I'll give it until...midnight to get everything squared away before I rescend my __**recommendation**__. Here's hoping nothing goes awry otherwise it'll cost those men their lives and me my head...)_

__*_*_*_*_8-888-8_

Anne was in the radio room and writing down a message with the radio operator looking on with a sly expression. The crew of the ship was like family and everybody knew what hurt one of them hurt them all. Josh would _never_ put anyone in danger unless it was absolutely nessessary. In this case, not only did the Marines on board the _Beowulf_ agree with him but also the other Marine groups on the other ships as well. Now all that was left was to get a radio broadcast out using Resistance codes feigning distress. As soon as she was happy with the message, she handed it to the operator.

"Now then, when you send this, ensure that you make it quick. If at all possible, try to make it sound...urgent. Cal, are you the _only_ operator listing in to Resistance traffic?"

"Yes ma'am. Under radio silence, all vessels are to not send or recieve any transmissions unless using an emergency flash code. The other operators are most likely sitting about in the rooms sleeping or drinking coffee to keep awake. Speaking of which, could you pass me that pot please?"

Anne looked to see a small portable burner set up on a desk and a purcolating coffee pot working full blast. She carefully lifted it off the burner and passed it to Cal who poured himself a large, steaming mug of fresh coffee and then passed it back to her.

"Thank you. If there's one thing I dislike about radio silence is that I get tired and bored easily and must resort to measures to keep my head. I can usually drink two to three pots of coffee a night when I'm on duty." He paused to take a sip from the large mug and then set it down.

"Ah, that's the stuff. Anyway, as you were asking, I am the only one on the radio as the others will be simply listening to the local channels or tapping into the local radio waves for music. Bottom line, they won't know who's sending the call only that it's following the proper procedure and using the correct codes. When do you want it sent?"

"As soon as I shut the door." Cal smiled and flipped a few switches on the radio to warm up the tubes. He then pulled a book labelled 'Enigma Code 'AQZM' No. 12B' and input the codes and a series of gears in the transmitter rapidly spun into their new positions.

"Ready for transmission. Switching over to emergency frequencies and codes." Anne nodded and shut the door and started down the hallway. Cal then lifted the note and reached for the transmitter.

_*_*_*-88-8-88

S.O.S. S.O.S. S.O.S.

**TCTIGTVEN AXQOD AIBC Q.J. PB QVN QVR QXX QXXFTO FV PDT QITQ. **

_(EMERGENCY FLASH FROM A.V. TO ANY AND ALL ALLIES IN THE AREA.)_

**QPPTCYP PB YHOD FVPB EFPN YIBYTI DQJT CTP KFPD AFTIET ITOFOPQVET. TVTCN ABIETO DQJT TVPIQYYTR QVR TVEFIEXTR OTJTIQX SIBHYO FVEXHRFVS 3 OTVFBI BAAFETIO. **

_(ATTEMPT TO PUSH INTO CITY PROPER HAVE MET WITH FIERCE RESISTANCE. ENEMY FORCES HAVE ENTRAPPED AND ENCIRCLED SEVERAL GROUPS INCLUDING 3 SENIOR OFFICERS.)_

**ITUTOP FCCTRFQPT QOOFOPQVET.**

_(REQUEST IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE.)_

**KFPDBHP PDTOT CTV, XTQRTIODFY FO FV RFIT IFOZ. **

_(WITHOUT THESE MEN, LEADERSHIP IS IN DIRE RISK.)_

__*_*_*_*_*_*-8-8-8_

Cal did a double take, looking at his hand, still comically poised to transmit a distress call yet here was the reciever going absolutely crazy. Panicked, he picked up the ship's comm and phoned the bridge.

"Sir! We-we just got a live transmission! We have allies in distress! Repeat: we have an authentic distress signal coming from behind enemy lines!"

Setting the phone aside, the radio began to buzz. A transmission light came on and he heard chatter from the radioman on the _RNV Gilcrease_, one of Admiral Behn's ships, asking if anyone else caught that burst. Cal flipped the transmitter to 'on' and switched back to standard frequencies.

"This is _Beowulf_ I caught it as well. I have my scanners working and can confirm that it originated from inside the occupied zone." For a moment, Cal watched as the lights on the radio lit up like a Yule tree as the other vessels also began to recieve the signal. Cal couldn't help but whistle as the channels began to fill with alerts from allied ships.

"Looks like everyone got the message. Now let's hope the Admiral acts on it."

As if in answering, the radio sprang to life with a message directly from Admiral Behn.

_"Attention, all vessels. This is Admiral Behn. In responce to the distress call over the radio, you are to disregard. Repeat: Disregard. It is likely an enemy ploy to lure us closer."_

Cal's jaw dropped. The Admiral had basically said 'to hell with our allies' and left it at that. Cal immediately contacted the bridge.

"Commander! This is Cal, the Admiral just ordered us to disregard the distress call!"

He held the phone away as Josh's explosive swearing came through the phone and he was _sure _everyone on the ship could hear him. Needless to say, he didn't blame him.

_*_*_*_*-8-8-8-88

(On board _SS Cabulla_)

Royal Marines Gunnery Sergeant Roy Clark vaulted down the stairs of the hatch and ran into the barracks. He'd been in the radio room when the message flashed through all channels followed shortly by the Admiral's dismissal and didn't know what steamed him more. The Admiral's weak dispute that the signal was false, or that the Captain of the _Cabulla_ meekly went along with it.

As soon as the hatch to the barracks was opened, he saw the Marines in his unit awake, dressed, equipped, and standing at attention. Beyond them stood Lieutenant-Colonel Edward Poe who also seemed disgusted by the turn of events. As he walked forward, Clark saluted and then nodded, confirming what Poe had sent him to investigate.

"Gunny, what the the holy hell is going on aboard this vessel? We recieve a distress bulletin that shatters radio silence like a damn brick through a glass window and the Captain of this _fine_ vessel just sticks his thumbs up his ass and twiddles! Good grief I _hate_ this, using repurposed civilian vessels to ferry us back and forth between campaigns."

Poe walked to the porthole and eyed outside and watched as the waves lap against the hull. In the distance, the sheets of rain began to ease and the fog began to disolve. He then looked to his watch and looked back to the men and women under his command.

"I make the time to be midnight. The top speed of this ship is twenty-one knots in calm seas, seventeen, maybe eighteen knots in rough seas. The fog is clearing, the rain is stopping, and now the waves are slacking off. What I'm getting at is this...according to Article 19 of the Naval-Marine Doctrine, if there is without a shadow of doubt that a military operation or assets are in jeopardy, military personel may commandeer civilian transport if they in some way, shape, or form, may be able to intercede to the benefit of the mission. So, I pose the question to you all. Do we do nothing? Or do we commandeer this ship in the name of the Royal Marines and go do what we do best?"

At full speed, the _Cabula_ and the transport vessels would be in position to land their troops in roughly one hour.

_*_*_*_*-88888

Josh looked up from the bridge as the droning of the aircraft filled the skies. The carriers in the fleet, along with the _Bastion_ were launching every single aircraft at their disposal following the relieving of Admiral Behn by Admiral Lee and the subsequent order to 'get their asses into the air'. Josh had ordered the _Beowulf_ and the rest of his group into battle and now they were sailing at full speed towards the beachhead.

Though just a ways past midnight, the ships were armed with 'star-burst' rounds which would illuminate the coast and give the aircraft a look at what they are going to destroy. Thankfully whoever had the foresight to develop these rounds had developed them for use with small-bore cannons, thus freeing the ship's large bore guns for shore and landing support. At present, the _Beowulf's _main guns were loaded with special rounds designed to destroy fortified emplacements and other rounds designed purely for high-explosive purposes.

"Radar, distance to shore?"

"Twenty miles sir. I've detected multiple small blips on radar. They've detected us and have sent up their night fighters. If they don't pursue our fighters, they'll be coming at our carriers or directly at _us_." Josh nodded and then picked up the phone and connected to the radio room.

"Cal, notify our ships as well as the other vessels to prepare their AA stations. Anne, order our gunners to their posts. Condition red." Anne nodded and turned to the intercom.

"Aye, sir. Attention all gunners, prepare for anti-air combat. Repeat, enemy night fighters inbound." Josh turned back to the bridge and then took his position.

"What's our range to the enemy front? How long until we're in range?"

"Twenty miles to shore sir! We need to be at least eight miles before we can hit them with the main guns! At this speed, we'll be on point in about twenty minutes!"

Josh nodded and then gazed upwards as more planes flew by. Vaguely, he saw one that matched the markings Reyson Havvers' plane. The light blue, silver, and gold markings briefly visable before vanishing again.

_*_*_*_*_8-8-88-8-8

Reyson adjusted his headset as the chatter from his group threatened to overhelm his hearing. He had been hastily reassigned to the operation after this particular squadron's previous leader crashed and was killed during a patrol over the fleet which their former commander, Admiral Behn, had ordered while in the midst of the thick fog. Once on the _RNV Ceduran_, he had been placed in command of the air units aboard and personally commanded the Red Section of the 1264th Naval Air Squadron. A squadron he discovered was comprised of nuggets, rookies, barely out of training and each pilot had just barely twelve hours in the CF-32 Carrier Intercpetors they were currently flying.

The way these kids were chattering, Reyson suspected they were more excited about their first battle than scared. That _could_ be a good thing, still, the reports from the _Beowulf_ placed a swarm of enemy interceptors right in their path. He had half a mind to order his nuggets out of the fight but knew that would be impractical. He'd just have to see (and dread) what the kids reactions would be once they realized fully that they weren't in training anymore.

"Warbird 1 to _Beowulf_, how much farther out are the enemy planes?"

_"Warbird, this is _Beowulf_, make sure your guns are cocked and locked because you should be right on top of them."_

Reyson scanned the dark skies for any sign of enemy combatants.

"Warbird here, I have a negative, no visuals. I-wait a sec...there! Warbird 6 you have an enemy coming straight at you, he has his landing lights on! See him? See him?"

_"Warbird 6 copies, engaging!"_

Tracers illuminated the dark sky as the guns and cannons of the CF-32 opened fire, tearing through the darkness and riddling the incoming Damonenian F25-I with holes. A moment later the fuel tank exploded briefly illuminating the sky and that brief glimpse made Reyson's jaw dropped.

It was common knowledge that Damoneni had an overabundance of land-based aircraft but to actually see so many of them in the sky at once was somewhat frightening and a little disturbing.

The most common planes were the F18-Ts and the F19-Fs which were the basic fighter planes and trainers of the _Aviazione Legionaria_. Next was the F25-Is which were built as interceptors, and lastly (and rarest) was the heavy hitters, the FB26s. Of these four, the F18s and 19s were biplanes and the F25 was underpowered and couldn't break the 300 mph mark unless it was in a steep dive. Only the FB26, a fighter-bomber, could breach the 300 mph mark and actually pose a threat to an experienced pilot. To rookies however, even an enemy flying the Damoneni's trainer aircraft could prove fatal.

_"Good grief I feel like I just stepped into the Callinian Incursion or the Dalon Conflict. Look at those old crates!"_ A 'crate' was a popular term when talking about old biplanes.

"Watch your ass Warbird 9 or those 'crates' will blow your ass into next week. Remember, the plane is only part of the equation, it's mostly the pilot flying the plane. Those biplanes are still armed with heavy caliber guns and are far more maneuverable at low speeds than our planes. Don't get into a turning match with them or they'll be sending you home in a pine wood box."

At that moment, tracers arced through the sky and slammed into an allied plane on Reyson's left wing. He saw the plane in the glow of the moon and recognized it.

"Roberts! Roberts, are you alright?"

_"Just peachy sir. Bastard gave me some fresh air but I'm still in it...That didn't sound like no machineguns though..."_

"Probably an F25, those damn things are armed with three cannons and can do some damage to a small carrier fighter. At least it wasn't an FB26."

At that moment, a plane Reyson recognized indeed as an FB26 opened fire on a plane straight in front of him.

_"Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is Seagull 5 I have been hit and I'm going down!"_

"Warbirds, break formation to engage the enemy! Two and Three, stick to me. Four, Five, and Six go left. Seven, Eight, and Nine break right! Time to earn your pay boys!"

The planes broke formation and went their ways, engaging the enemy where they saw them. Reyson and his group engaged several biplane fighters and a few of the fighter-bombers. As he began to think they were making headway against the onslaught, a strange shape dart across the sky, briefly illuminated of the moon. Flashes from the tail section and fuselage gave it away and Reyson's mind flashed through the 'know your enemy' flash card recognitions and then matched what he saw.

"All planes, heads up, we've got enemy bombers, B26s, mixed with the fighters. They are heading through the clouds at high altitude and are likely trying to get at the fleet. Warbirds, shift your focus from the fighters to the bombers. Let the others handle the gnats."

_"Attention, all flights, this is the command battleship _RNV Courageous_. The landing ships have begun to arrive and are amassing their forces. Any available squadrons please provide air cover for the ships."_

"Warbird copies. Engaging the bombers!"

At that moment, a loud roaring was heard overhead. Reyson had enough time to gaze upwards at the incoming aircraft with confusion.

"What the hell are those?"

_*_*_**-8-8-888-8-

The report of a cannon made him jump out of his bunk. Despite his being accustomed to combat thanks to the countless days spent with one mercenary group or another, Gerald Ross, former Dragoon of the Syllian Military, former officer of the Blackguard Mercenary Company, rousted himself from a dreamless sleep to stand by the window overlooking the beach and coastal town of Broken Anchor.

He had been a part of Callinar's mercenary forces (mainly gathering intel for Syllia and Praetoria) when they landed on the beach and began the invasion of Tullinar. However, he was not among the boots on the ground but rather, high in the skies above them.

Gerald had gone by a different name when he volunteered in 1919 for the Callinian's fledgling air force and had fought during the Callinar Incursion. His plane of choice back then, a heavily modified Syllian P5E biplane painted blood red. This paint scheme earned him the nickname 'The Crimson Tide of Callinar'.

For several years he could sense that something was building up. When it finally erupted, Gerald decided to stick around for a while, if only to give Syllia a better chance to nip the problem in the bud but also for another reason. During the war he had met a promising young man by the name of Dieter Muntz who was now the leading ace in the Rotarian Air Aggressor Force or RAAF. He had hoped to cross paths with him in this war and convince him to defect. However, with the destruction of Praetoria's capital of Lavonshire, and the nation subsequently thrown into chaos, he had thought that chance was gone.

The day before Callinar was set to surrender, Gerald took off and vanished into the night, only returning once the base was abandoned and making it his home. Now it seems, the Syllian forces were now coming to free Tullinar. For the first time since that fateful day in 1914 which had reunited Gerald with old friends, he made a decision to take to the skies once more in the name of Syllia.

_*_*_*-8-88-8-88

The waves struck the small landing craft with enough force to throw several unprepared Marines backwards against their comrades who somehow managed to chuckle and laugh despite the tension of the moment. Not one mile from them, the ships of Task Force 11, headed by the _Beowulf_, were blazing away at the enemy planes overhead as well as the enemy fortifications on the beach. The boats were within range now of the machineguns hidden and emplaced in pillboxes and bunkers lining the beach and along the cliffs in the back, furthermore, there was that thrice-damned artillery.

On the upside, the landing craft were enclosed as to prevent waves from flooding the boat. On the downside, enclosed didn't exactly mean waterproof. Gunny Clark noted this as a round came through the roof and clipped the helmet of the Marine closest to him, taking a chunk off the brim. Immediately a wave crashed over the craft and seawater poured in from several small holes, cracks, and seams. Already the Marines of LST-013 were up to their bootlaces in salt water while the Navy clodpole driving this floating brick of a boat calmly looked at his watch and then gazed through the periscope which served as the only method of looking outsie until they reached their final destination.

"Clear the ramp! Thirty seconds!" Clark nodded then looked to the Marines around him.

"Alright kids, listen up. First and Second squads are with me, Third and Fourth are with Sergeant Crichuck. When the ramp drops, keep your heads down and run like hell for the seawall. If you get lost, look for me or Crichuck. Now the seawall is strung with razorwire and other nasty surprises. That's why our resident pyromaniac, Corporal Wallace, is loaded down with enough PE3 and C3 explosive to sink a battleship. Our goal up to the seawall is to make sure he gets to the seawall so that he can do that voodoo that he does so well."

"Ten seconds!"

"Alright boys and girls, we're about to ring the enemy's doorbell. That ramp drops, run like the devil himself is behind you."

There was a dull '_thud_' as the boat hit the shoals near the beach and the boat pilot released the switch near him that allowed the ramp to fall forward. The ramp landed on the soft ocean-soaked sand with a clang and the Marines ran forward out of the boat. Almost immediately, machineguns in the bunkers focused on them and many of those on board were cut down no sooner than they had stepped out of the boat.

Clark clambered over the body of a fallen Marine and fell into a blood-filled tide that was washing ashore. He felt around back and cursed as the broken strap of his R-22 battle rifle slipped through his hands. Looking around, he grabbed an MR5 from a dead Marine and began running up the shore.

Halfway to the sea wall, bombs began exploding and sparing a glance up, Clark saw bombers from the Damonenian Air Force, the _Aviazione Legionaria_, beginning bombing runs on those on the beaches. He advanced six more steps when a loud whine filled his ears and he stared up as a B26 dove straight at him. At the same time, tracers arced through the air and cut the plane to pieces. In the shadow of the moon, Clark saw a single engine plane fly by.

The aircraft was blood red in color, and no sooner had the destroyed B26 exploded on the beach was the plane gone and engaging the next threat. Clark then heard a tremendous explosion near the seawall and saw a huge section had been blown from it and the troops were now swarming the gap. They were now off the beach and heading inland. Off shore, the fleet was now in position to deliver full broadside attacks on the enemy fortifications and Clark spared a moment to watch as the _Beowulf_ fired a volley that all but ripped the top level off of one of the enemy bunkers. He watched as the other bunkers also collapsed and then gazed at the smoke rising from the town they were going to liberate.

_(The only easy day was yesterday...)_


	27. Battle of White Sands Part 1

Hey guys, sorry for the long update but I had some problems at home. Finally got some ideas together and managed to crank this chapter out. I want to thank all of you for your prayers and for your comments and messages. I may not have the most reviews on Fanfiction and DA but I do know that these are those who like my stories even if they choose not to comment. To those of you out there, I thank you.

Now then, onto the story.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 26: Battle of White Sands Part 1

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Joshua stood at his usual post on the _Beowulf_, watching the landing craft and supply ships constantly moving back and forth from the liberated port of Broken Anchor. It had been two weeks since the landing operation and he could sense that the crew of the ship and, most probably the crews of his squadron, were getting restless. He himself had managed to pass the time by painting group portraits of the crews from memory and even doing some single portraits for some of the crew and officers.

Naturally some of his crew wanted to pay him for his art but he declined their offers. He understood that aboard a ship, the crew is family, and family does things for each other that do not require payment. Besides...

...he knew that if his Mother heard that he was selling art he had made for his crew, she'd scale him alive and salt the wounds.

Most of his paintings were safely tucked away in a special art case he had brought aboard while he was on duty but the minute he was off, out came the eisel, the brushes, the paints, and the unfinished works or a new 'virgin' canvas. While on watch, he gazed in the direction of the escort carrier _Bastion_ and spied the bright red plane on her deck and couldn't help but allow the old amazement to enter his mind.

Not three hours after the landing was deemed a success, a red plane bearing Callinian markings comes on the radio requesting permission to land. After some back and forth bantering, the pilot **finally** identified himself as Gerald Ross. A name which caused damn near everyone on the carrier, Reyson's still patroling squadron, and even Josh himself to swear so brilliently that many young sailors, yeomen, and ensigns blushed with amazement. Master Chief Barnes moved to cover his daughter's ears but she shook her head, laughing uproarously at Joshua's expression of sheer shock and disbelief.

Syllian records stated that Gerald Ross had been killed during a freak accident during the Callinar Incursion when a plane he was flying was mistaken for a Tellanian plane and shot down. Though protests to the firing upon of a Syllian soldier and airplane were raised, no one pursued the issue, not even Joshua's father. Once the plane landed on the deck and the canopy opened, everyone on the carrier was greeted by a in fact still living Gerald Ross who, after he landed, was embraced by Reyson as a long-lost brother. Gerald had spent the next day regailing the sailors, officers, and pilots of the carrier the story of how he went from a volunteer pilot, under the name Lance Holden, for Callinar's fledgling air force, to fighter ace during the Callinian Incursion, the reason he was listed as KIA, and what his actions so far had been. Josh still couldn't believe it.

_(Gerald Ross, the Crimson Tide of Callinar. The most decorated, celebrated, and honored pilot in the history of the Callinar Islands, was also a spy for Syllian Intelligence as well as for my Father...I wonder why he never said anything?)_

Of course Josh knew the answer to that. If James had let it become public knowledge that Gerald Ross was alive and that he was acting on the behalf of Syllia, Callinar would have tore itself apart looking for him and then shipped him off to Rotiart for interrogation.

Followed by a spy's trial and summary execution.

The crew on the flight deck were repainting the plane to match Syllian markings although they kept the red paint job as per Gerald's request and Reyson's orders. With Callinar no longer in the war it made no sense to detain him as an enemy. Even less once James had contacted the Fleet Admiral and gave him orders to allow Gerald to fly with Reyson's squadron or lead his own if he so wished. There was, in fact, no shortage of eager young men and women who wanted to fly with Gerald Ross simply for the fact that he was a living legend.

Where as Reyson had become the Blue Knight of Syllia as well as the first ever fighter Ace of Aces, Gerald had become the Crimson Tide of Callinar and had become the _**greatest**_ Ace of Aces. Joshua chuckled as he thought of something.

_(Reyson Havvers, Gerald Ross, Bertram de Launces, and Dieter Muntz in the same fighter group. God save us and help our foes if __**THAT**__ should ever come about...)_

It was a joke meant to relieve tension but still, he knew that the enemy would be genuinely afraid if confronted with a wing of nothing but aces. Reyson Havvers was an incredible killer in the air, having downed some twenty enemy fighters and bombers the day of the invasion and several more in the days since. Gerald Ross had experience and basically stood out like a clown at a funeral. His brightly colored plane scared off more enemy pilots than the enemy would have liked to admit. The simple fact was that **no one** wanted to test their mettle against the Crimson Tide.

Bertram had made a sizable impact and was one of Syllia's highest scoring aces. On top of that, he was the only pilot in the RAF who had apparently angered the Rotarian leadership enough that they put a bounty on his head.

Dieter Muntz, the Rotarian's prize pilot, the so-called 'Black Knight of Gotha' was the world's first ever jet fighter ace and held an intimate knowledge of Rotarian decryption codes, ciphers, base locations, troop strengths, formation and squadron tactics. The news of his defection had brought an immense sigh of relief from Gerald as well as all the other pilots. Still, news that the 'Butcher of Chamberlain', Alfred Marks, had become the top ace had everyone on their toes.

Joshua looked at the clock on the bridge and then checked his watch and smiled.

"XO, please sound the watch change." Anne nodded to him and keyed the PA system.

"All stations, relieve the watch. Repeat: relieve the watch."

No sooner were the crew relaxing when an alarm blared from one of the fleet cariers nearby and the bridge phone rang. Joshua picked it up and heard Cal railing off what sounded like fifty words a second.

"Cal, calm down, take a deep breath. Close your eyes and count slowly back from twenty." Anne looked up from where she was and glanced at Cal.

"Uh, Captain, that's supposed to help when you're _angry_. Not frantic." Josh rolled his eyes and then listened as Cal took several deep breaths to steady himself.

_"Captain, a distress call from a destroyer on patrol near White Sands. A magnetic mine has disabled their engines and their radar is detecting a small fleet approaching their position. The operators over there say the shadows on the radar look like six, maybe seven vessels, and the sonar says that each vessel is either a triple or quad screw meaning battlecruiser or heavier."_

"What are the chances the enemy has deployed a carrier support fleet?"

_"Next to zero. None of the shadows seemed carrier-sized although...hold on a moment...There!"_ Josh listened to the phone but became annoyed at the silence.

"There what Petty Officer Calvin?" The sound of his name _and_ rank made the sailor stammer but then recover.

_"Came across a report this morning from a sub on patrol near that area. Sonar reported hearing a strange new noise, sounded like six screws. It was later folloewed by several single and double screw vessels followed by splashes the sub thought was depthcharges and it fled the area. Must have been the mines they were dropping. Still, we don't have a six-screw vessel on any of our charts. Could be a new enemy vessel?"_ Josh set the phone down and turned to Anne.

"Radio the _Bastion_. Tell them to send a flight up to find our lost destroyer and see what in the world is going on over there. I have a feeling that Rotiart might be trying to sneak behind us." Anne nodded but then turned to him.

"Rotiart, sir? Why not Damoneni's navy?" Josh opened a map and then pointed to Damoneni.

"Because all of Damoneni's major ports are to the south of us, with the exception of the gulf ports. The only way they could have gotten a fleet there in the short amount of time is either they somehow managed to dodge Praetoria, Anozira, and Espan by sailing through the gulf and up the Mont Blanc Channel, all the while within spitting distance of all three nations and within eyesight of three of Espan's largest ports. When you look at the map, Rotiart is the only option." Anne nodded and then relayed the orders to the _Bastion_. Moments later, Reyson and Gerald's squadrons were airborne and headed towards the destroyer's last reported location.

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Because of the possibility that there were enemy ships in the area, as well as a carrier, Gerald's squadron was equipped with an assortment of weapons. He had been assigned a squadron of twelve planes and of those, three, his own included, had been refitted with Syllian 30 and 25mm cannons called 'ship caliber cannons', meaning they had the firepower to sink a ship, _**any**_ ship, so long as it was less armored than a cruiser.

The next three were armed with new 'Armor-Piercing Rockets'. Special rockets designed for naval use in combating medium ships such as cruisers, battlecruisers, and escort carriers. After those were another three, these armed with new Syllian Mark 12 Aerial Torpedoes meant to sink battleships. The last were armed with 750lb aerial bombs meant to disable carrier operations by destroying the deck, thus denying it the ability to launch or retrieve aircraft. The squadron that Gerald was going with, Reyson's, was all equipped to be the fighter escort for them.

Down below, Gerald could also see the _Beowulf_ and it's squadron changing course and setting sail for the lost destroyer's location.

_(Well, let's just hope that all's well when we get there. Then again, how often has __**THAT**__ ever happened to __**ME**__?) _Gerald thought as he went through his aerial checklist and then keyed his radio.

"Comms check. Comms check. This is Red 1, all planes sound off."

_"Red 2, in formation sir!"_

_ "Red 3, on your left!"_

_ "Red 4, on 3's left!"_

_ "Red 5, on 2's right!"_

_ "Red 6, on your six Captain!"_

_ "Red 1 this is Blue Section reporting in, we are flying behind and above you and ready for your orders."_

_"Red 1 this is Warbird Squadron, we will be flying escort for you. Our job will be to keep enemy planes, if any, off of you while you guys go have some fun."_ Gerald couldn't help but chuckled at Reyson's depressed voice.

"What's the matter Rey? Disappointed you don't get to play in traffic?"

_"Hell, no. You guys are the ones who'll be getting your asses shot off, I'm just here to make sure you actually __**GET**__ to your targets."_ Gerald laughed, as did his squadron.

_"Red 1, Red 4 here. Uh, Captain? Any advice for us rookies?"_ Gerald looked at the rookie's plane and then sighed.

"Yeah, in my experience a pilot must adhere to three rules. Rule number 1: Never fly a straight line. Make the enemy work to get a bead on you. As the people of the Blue Isles say, 'Be nimble like the reed, not rigid like the tree'. Rule number 2: Mind your ammo. When you engage an enemy, fire in short bursts so that the guns won't overheat and that you won't expend all your ammo in one go. Finally, Rule 3 and kids, this is the big one. Rule 3: Incoming fire has the right of way. You come under fire, flip on your back and dive for the deck. You don't evade, you can kiss your ass goodbye." Gerald listened to the recruits for a moment and then sighed and keyed the radio again.

"There is also an unspoken Rule 4. It is unspoken because it addresses something that is so damn stupid no pilot worth his wings would ever consider it. Rule 4: Don't be a hero. That means no single straffing runs on ships or ground forces, no breaking formation to chase tail, no going after bug outs or parachutes, and absolutely no glory-seeking. You want to come home with a chest full of medals? Transfer to the Army or the Marines. In the air, the lighter you are, the faster you are. Speed is life, the fast live, the slow die. Everything depends on how fast you can get behind the enemy and how fast you can pull the trigger." The same pilot from before spoke again.

_"Not very inspirational, sir. I-If you'll pardon me for saying so, sir."_

"No offense pilot. But, you want inspiration? Read a poem." Reyson came on the radio laughing.

_"Now where have I heard __**that**__ before?"_ Gerald chuckled.

"My father once told you the same thing if I recall correctly. I believe you were working with James trying to improve the rail lines in Launces." Again laughter.

_"Yeah...those were the days...heads up! Bandits! Eleven 'o clock high! Warbird Squadron engaging, Red and Blue Sections, dive for the deck and stay out of the fight! Gerald, protect your nuggets!"_ Gerald nodded and checked his left and right wings.

"No problems there. Listen up, all nuggets, you stay glued to my tail and whatever you do, don't slow down! We're going full bore into the abyss!"

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Alarms blared on the _Beowulf_ as the AA gunners ran to their posts and started lobbing flak shells into the air. At the same time the _Bastion_ was launching all remaining fighters and, as per standard operating procedure, the _Aurora, Minotaur, Minerva, Solent,_ _Beowulf, _and the latest addition, the Raven-class destroyer _RNV Tribal_ were taking up escort formations around their carrier. The _Beowulf_ took the lead position, _Tribal_ and _Minerva_ took the starboard side, _Aurora_ and _Solent_ took the port side, and _Minotaur_ took the rear.

Also by SOP, the destroyers now had their sonar active and the cruisers readied their anti-sub planes in the event they were needed. Josh spared a moment to go onto the port lookout position to see contrails in the sky where the planes were closing in on one another and gazed to the left. The Royal Navy Ensign, a blue and white flag with a red cross dead center fluttered in the breeze. At first call to stations, the crew hastily lowered the 'at anchor' flag and hoisted the Ensign for all to see. Naturally, as the _Beowulf_ was the flagship of the squadron, it would raise not only the Ensign but also have the Squadron's flag flying beneath it. The Squadron's flag was a solid blue with the emblem of an anchor with a crossed rifle and cutlass, with an albatross perched upon the anchor. Not the most elaborate of the Navy's emblems but it was unique.

Already the Squadron had a reputation for being ready for anything and always getting the job done. One reason that the Captain and crew of the _Tribal_ had requested assignment to this unit. It was already common knowledge that Joshua had been the Captain that sunk a supership while commanding a destroyer.

The report of the 25mm and 40mm anti-air guns got his attention as the gunners fired into the incoming swarm of aircraft. With the binoculars, he managed to spy one of the planes as it zipped by.

A grey and black diamond and a black and orange triangle were the markings he spotted.

"XO, alert all vessels, the enemy planes are Rotarian. There is most likely a carrier nearby. Have we heard anything from that missing destroyer yet?" Anne shook her head but a moment later the radar operator shot his hand up.

"Radar contact bearing 322! Range, fifteen miles! Coordinates confirm as the last known position of the destroyer escort _RNV Lion_." Josh nodded and then grabbed the bridge phone.

"Comms, this is the Captain, unknown radar target bearing 322, fifteen miles out. Believed to be _Lion_, DE-113. Patch me into the radio communications." Joshua watched as the light on the bridge comms phone turned from green to red and then to blue. He then keyed the phone.

"Attention, _RNV Lion_, this is the _RNV Beowulf_ of the Syllian Navy, Combat Squadron 211. We are responding to your distress call. Does anyone copy?"

...

...

Silence.

Joshua waited and then repeated the message over the channel.

...

...

Again silence.

Joshua sighed and then looked to Anne who looked worried.

"Attention _RNV Lion, _this is Commander Joshua de Launces of the _RNV Beowulf_, I am taking your failure to answer as an emergency situation, standby and prepare to be boarded." Joshua immediately switched channels to the fleet communications.

"_Tribal_, this is _Beowulf_. The _Lion _has failed to respond to our hailing calls and may be in extreme distress. Take the _Solent_ with you for cover and board the vessel to see if they need any assistance."

Josh glanced at the destroyer in the distance and then gazed upwards toward the aircraft fighting overhead. Though he knew in his heart that these were carrier-borne aircraft, he hoped that this was not the case.

The fact was, his squadron was not equipped to deal with a heavy carrier support fleet.

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Gerald couldn't help but admire the way Reyson's squadron cut through the Rotarian planes. Then again, he had often remarks to his Callinian comrades that Rotiart's main aerial strength lies in their ground-based planes and not their carrier-fleets. Rotiart had no carriers that could match Callinar much less Syllia and their carrier airfleet, in light of the successes of the land based RAAF, seemed somewhat stagnant and still.

He scanned the waters and spotted the disabled destroyer as well as the two vessels from the _Beowulf_'s squadron moving to assist and kept an eye out around the group for anything out of the ordinary. Then, off in the distance, he spotted a cloud of black smoke and it was coming closer. Hurriedly, he keyed his radio to the Navy frequency.

"This is Gerald Ross to _RNV Beowulf_, get those destroyers out of there! Enemy battle formation inbound! They're shrouded by smoke but I can make the outline of a carrier and one, maybe two, battlecruisers!

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(Meanwhile, in Syllia)

Albert Reed was sitting in the drawing room of the Workshop, agonizing over a set of blueprints that he had made long ago and yet, now the prototype was gone. The blueprints were for a new type of aircraft carrier that would have equalled, if not outright surpassed, all current Syllian designs. The carrier had already been half-way built and had also been named.

'New Horizon'

There was a knock on the door and an out of breath Xavier stumbled in holding a radio intercept from Syllian Intelligence. Behind his were two agents of that same said agency, expressions grim. Albert looked to his brother and then to the men.

"Yes? Can I help you with anything gentlemen?" One of the agents nodded.

"Mr. Reed, you recently heard of the loss of Port Grand Vista, correct?" Albert nodded grimly.

It was all over the news. Two days ago, Grand Vista, the birthplace of the Federal Navy, stopped transmitting all communications and assurances that they were still holding fast. The very next day, a Resistance cell released a chilling announcement.

Rotiart has dropped a Ragnarok bomb on Grand Vista.

Almost on the heels of this was a message from Rotiart stating that all resistance will be met with the same fate. All nations wishing to avoid this fate, surrender immediately. To say that James had been shocked was an understatement. Word was that his son, Bertram, and his squadron were put on the Intercept list since their new aircraft were the only ones capable of intercepting the large bombers carrying the frightening new terror weapons. Albert was curious as to why the agents were curious about this when Xavier handed him the radio intercept.

COMBAT ORDERS: 1ST FLEET, CARRIER GROUP 4.

SAIL TO WHITE SANDS AND ENGAGE THE ENEMY. NEU HORIZONT WILL JOIN SHORTLY. ESCORT WILL INCLUDE TWO TYRANN-CLASS BATTLECRUISERS.

BATTLE GROUP 211 BELIEVED TO BE IN VISCINITY.

PROTECT CARRIERS AT ALL COSTS. ENSURE DESTRUCTION OF ENEMY FLAGSHIP '_RNV BEOWULF_.

Albert looked stunned and back to the agents.

"Has-" They nodded.

"Their Majesties have been informed and issued the call-back order but alas the 211 had already sailed. The fleet at Broken anchor has dispatched a reinforcement fleet to assist them but they will not arrive for some time. Also, a carrier force from the Blue Isles recieved the call and is making all speed to the battle site."

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Joshua saw the smoke cloud where Gerald had spotted it and ordered all crew to anti-ship combat stations. The helmsman turned the rudder hard to starboard, engines went to battle speed, and the turrets all shifted to the starboard side in preparation to fire a broadside at the earliest possible moment. He steeled himself for what was to come. Though he'd been in battle before, this was his first time commanding a fleet action.

_(God help us...)_

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Okay, I know it's a little short but I'm still dealing with fragmented notes here. My nephews decided to play with my notebooks that I keep my ideas in and now I can't find them. Shouldn't take too long though so please be patient.


	28. Battle of White Sands Part 2

Well, I'm back above water now so I can give ya'll the new chapter. Whew, I'll tell ya, I ain't NEVER seen flooding like that before. I've been through Hurricane Andrew, Hurricane Katrina and Rita, and never seen a mess like this. Bridges washed out, culverts collapsed, fields flooded, home literally lifted off their foundations and sunk. Hell, even Sibley Lake in my hometown of Natchitoches went over the embankment. Flooded out parts of Highway 6, Mariner's Restaurant, and the NPSO Lake Patrol Post, flooded the first floor of Natchitoches Central High School, and damn near flooded Northwestern State University.

Well anyway, the water is receding, cleanup has begun and now things are getting back to normal. Here's that Chapter I promised.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 27: Battle of White Sands Part 2

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Joshua watched in shock as the smokescreen disipated. The enemy's cover blown by the aircraft already aloft, they abandoned a disguised approach and was now moving in at full speed. The _Beowulf_'s radar operator confimed the report that Gerald had radioed to them.

Out of the smoke came a fleet numbering fourteen vessels. Confirmed were two Tyrann-class battlecruisers, two Schmerz-class cruisers, two Schrecken-class cruisers, two Wilhelm-class anti-air cruisers, two Kreuz-class heavy destroyers and three Fury-class destroyers. These ships were surrounding a single carrier that looked to be three times as big as the _Bastion_. Not only was it a large ship but it was unique in its design.

All carriers have a single landing deck and an 'island' bridge on either the port or starboard side. This carrier had _two_ flight decks and had a large 'tower' bridge dead center between the flight decks, amidships. Through his binoculars, Josh could see aircraft preparing to take off from the carrier. He immediately turned to the radar operator.

"What's the range on that carrier?!" The crewman quickly did some calculations and then turned to him.

"Sir, the enemy carrier is at 15,000 yards. It's within range but we do not have a clear shot! Those escorts are spoiling our aim!" Immediately a young sailor came up to Josh, fear evident in his voice.

"Sir, we are facing a superior enemy force. They outnumber us two to one and outgun us four to one. For the sake of the crew, we _must_ fall back and await reinforcements." Josh turned to him, eyes blazing with fury but then he sighed.

"I understand your concerns however, we cannot fall back. If we retreat, the enemy will take White Sands and will likely use it as a point to launch missions to intercept and destroy our ground and air forces trying to liberate Tullinar. Whatever casualties there will be already may as well be doubled or tripled. Not to mention the risk that that carrier has one of those 'Ragnarok' bombs on board. What if they decide to attack the Tullinar capital like they did Praetoria? Are we to fall back because we 'are not adequately prepared' and allow such an atrocity to go unchallenged? I understand your concerns are for the crew, your comrades, but remember that we are sailors in the Syllian Royal Navy and that we do not back down, nor give in. I will carry out a call for reinforcements but they won't arrive for some time. Until we are relieved, this is our fight and ours alone."

The sailor, chastised but now confident, nodded and returned to his post before a sharp whistle got his attention.

"Midshipman Ford. One more thing, never tell me the odds." The sailor nodded and then returned to his duties. Josh turned to the radar operator.

"Plot distance to nearest enemy ship and chart a firing solution for the guns. Have all turrets load armor-piercing rounds! Signal our destroyers to launch torpedoes in a full six by two spread into the enemy fleet. Set them to detonate either when they contact the ship's hull or sense their magnetic fields! Prepare to fire all primary and secondary batteries as soon as you get the firing solution!"

The bridge crew quickly did their numbers and then reported.

"Commander! Closest target is the first of two Wilhelm-class anti-air cruisers. Range is 10,500 yards, suggested gun elevation for main guns is 12.6 degrees, secondary guns 24.2 degrees!" Josh nodded.

"Send it!"

From the bridge, Josh could see the forward turret lifting its three 11.5 inch guns and knew that the seven starboard 5.5 inch guns and two stern turrets were also raising. A moment later, the gunnery officer on the bridge looked to him.

"Ready to fire sir!" Josh nodded.

"Fire guns, full complement!"

The turret crews must have heard him through the PA system for as soon as he uttered the word 'fire' the guns roared out their defiance. The recoil of fifteen cannons rattled the windows in the bridge and Josh feld the ship lurch as the guns recoiled in their turrets.

The first volley sailed through the air, rounds glowing red hot from the heat of the power charges that had launched them. The thing about armor-piercing rounds is that they tended to whistle loudly as they arced through the air. Doubtlessly to the crew of the enemy ship these rounds sounded akin to a chorus of the damned for no sooner had she started to turn and evade then the rounds came down upon her.

The three rounds from the forward turret crashed through the aft bridge and severely damaged the engine room beneath as fire erupted from her rear-most smokestack moment before the aft bridge erupted into flames. Three of the 5.5 inch shells missed but the other four found their mark, peppering the anti-air platforms and sending shrapnel into others. the shells from turret 2 struck the bridge, blowing it in half and the rounds from turret 3 struck the magazine in one of the forward turrets causing an explosion which ripped the turrets (and a good portion of the foredeck) from the ship and sent flaming debris into the nearby ships.

None of which did anything beyond pissing off the crews aboard the enemy carrier and battlecruisers.

An explosion from the enemy formation caught Josh's eye and he saw that the _Minotaur_ had fired a broadside as well, only their target was a Kreuz-class heavy destroyer that had been lining up a torpedo spread on them. The broadside had ripped the destroyer open like a tin can and it was already sinking. The cruiser the _Beowulf_ had hit started going down by the head as the crew rushed to escape their doomed ship.

_(Two down with two broadsides. As long as those battlecruisers don't get a bead on us we should be fine.)_

A moment later, two geysers of water erupted from another cruiser that had been hit by torpedoes fired from the _Minerva_. It didn't sink but it listed so heavily that it's main guns were rendered useless and started releasing a smokescreen to cover its retreat.

Shells from the _Aurora, Tribal, _and _Solent_ struck one of the Schrecken-class cruisers, disabling its rear guns and engines allowing the _Solent _to fire a quick spread of torpedoes that hit and capsized the ship, sinking it.

Suddenly there was a sound Josh found he dreaded to hear and instinctively yelled to take cover a second before a dud 8 inch shell tore the starboard and port hatches off the bridge as it went through and felt the ship shudder as another round (this one NOT a dud) ripped through the second smokestack. Josh looked through the now open hatch to see steam and smoke billowing from the damaged smokestack and the he turned and saw one of the two battlecruisers across from them, the guns on its number 2 turret smoking.

"Someone radio the air units and see if we can't put a dent in that battlecruiser!" Anne came forward and shook her head.

"No use. Every time one of our planes gets close to the fleet, that anti-air cruiser throws enough lead up to sink a battleship. We have to deal with that anti-air first before they can attack. Until then all they can do is keep _their_ fighters off of _us_." Josh nodded and then scanned for the remaining Wilhelm cruiser. A moment later he spotted it and cursed.

"Coward's hiding behind another of their cruisers. We can't directly target him." At that moment, the sonar operator raised his hand.

"Sir, I've got a contact. It matches one of our A-class submarines. I think it's A-22." Josh turned with an idea forming.

"Can we contact them?" He smiled at the sonar operator's nod and then relayed what he wished A-22 to do.

While the directions were being relayed, Josh caught sight of a small splinter group breaking from the main force containing one cruiser and two destroyers. He noticed the _Minerva_ and _Minotaur_ moving to intercept them. Gazing about he saw the _Bastion_ making steam towards the _Lion_ while firing her 3.5 inch guns at whatever vessel or aircraft foolish enough to bear down on her. A destroyer turned and began to pursue her until a loud whine pierced the sky and a familiar blood-red plane opened fire with all guns, raking the ship with explosive rounds and setting off the reserve torpedoes which all but blew the ship in half.

Almost immediately, the AA cruiser opened fire on Gerald's plane as he tried to climb above the flak bursts and tracers that were filling the air with black clouds and bursts of green light. Josh held his breath as the the plane dodged and rolled this way and that and sometimes diving in between ships to escape the tracers. The sonar operator suddenly whooped and turned in his seat.

"Commander! A-22 heard and acknowledged our request! Full spread of torpedoes inbound on the enemy AA cruiser, ETA forty seconds!" Josh shook himself from his fear and then looked to the gunnery officers.

"New targets! Bow turret, focus fire on that cruiser group in front of us, protect the _Bastion_. Stern guns, try and soften up that flak coming from that heavy destroyer, starboard and port batteries switch to anti-air mode and start hammering at those enemy planes already airborne!"

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Gerald finally found an opening in the fire and went through it, rising rapidly as the sea battle dwindled beneath him. As soon as he was clear, he got a bead on an enemy fighter and fired his weapons. The heavy cannon rounds ripped the right wing and part of the tail off, sending the plane in a free fall down to the waters below.

Looking around, he saw one of his nuggets was in trouble and angled the plane on an intercept trajectory. Before he reached him though, tracers shot past him and destroyed the enemy plane. Moments later, he heard Reyson's voice on the radio.

_"Now Gerald, what would you do if I wasn't here to watch your back?"_ Gerald chuckled.

"Probably die happy, having _you_ watch my back is a little unnerving, especially considering how that last burst nearly downed _me_. What are you drunk or just that poor a shot?"

_"Hey, unlike you, I __**always**__ hit what I'm aiming at."_ Gerald looked below and spotted a Syllian destroyer under threat from a battlecruiser.

"Well, here's your chance. We need you to cover us while we make a run on one of the enemy's capital ships. Attention Blue Flight, we have a battlecruiser baring down on one of our destroyers. Looks to be the _Aurora_. Let's give 'em a hand shall we?"

Blue flight was at his side quickly and then, as one, they dove at the large ship. Some fired rockets at the ships weak parts, some dropped bombs, and Gerald fired his cannons. The AA guns on the battlecruiser were almost vertical as they fired upwards at the incoming attack aircraft. Getting a closer look as he dove, Gerald could see aircraft preparing to take off from the battlecruiser's stern deck.

"No wonder there's so many aircraft, these damn battlecruisers are hybrid vessels! Part battlecruiser, part carrier!"

That's when he saw it.

From above he could see that the battlecruiser had armoring all around it and had an impressive amount of forward and side firepower, however, its stern section was entirely defenceless. It was completely dedicated to the lauching and retrieval of aircraft. He immediately recalled a story he'd read years ago.

"Thus when the demon turned to strike at the fallen maiden, the knight saw the creature's defences were weakened on its back and through the lance with all his might..." He keyed the radio.

"Gerald Ross to _Beowulf_. I have found a weak spot on the battlecruisers. If you can, try and get behind them, they have no visible weapons on the stern!"

An explosion caught his attention and he saw the AA cruiser, which had given them so much grief, explode as four torpedoes from A-22 struck it, flooding the port side of the ship causing it to completely capsize in under thirty seconds. During the Callinar Incursion, Gerald had seen a ship capsize and take all hands with her to the deep and, despite himself, muttered a prayer for those still trapped below deck as the upturned belly of the ship vanished beneath the waves.

"Attention, all planes, the enemy's sole remaining AA cruiser is sunk, launch full attack on the carrier and battlecruisers!"

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Josh sighed with relief as the last AA cruiser went down by the stern, by all appearances, her crew going every man for himself as they leapt into the waters. Above the fighters were engaging the enemy planes and he saw an entire flight bearing down on one of the two battlecruisers. A split second later the flight released their ordnance. The bombs hurtled down like bolts from heaven and slammed into the ship's aft bridge and flight deck. Rockets struck the merrimack bunker midship and the cannon rounds ventilated the forward bridge. Moments later the ship was lifted up midsection by an internal explosion of some kind which ripped the monsterous capital ship in half. He chuckled and then grabbed his radio.

"Attention all ships, we have destroyed roughly half the enemy fleet! Keep up the fire!" Then he saw Anne pointing at something and, turning to look, he paled at what he saw.

The second battlecruiser was broadside with the _Solent_. All six of her 8 inch guns in her forward turrets angled at the destroyer and the ten 8 inch guns in the port merrimack bunker turned as best they could to line up their shots. Hurriedly, Josh grabbed the radio.

"_Solent!_ Enemy battlecruiser on your starboard side! Evasive maneuvers, NOW!"

The _Solent_'s alarms blared but it was too late. The enemy ship fired all the guns and there was a sickening explosion as each and every shell hit the destroyer. It was like watching a train strike an small animal. The _Solent_ immediately caught fire as the bow and stern magazines exploded, further dooming the ship. Josh watched as crewmen flailed in the water and hoped there were enough of them to save.

Then came the unthinkable.

"Captain! That battlecruiser is turning its machineguns on the survivors!"

Josh's gazed snapped to the battlecruiser and he watched in horror as the machineguns on the port side started firing at the wreck of the _Solent_. Men were swinmming frantically to escape the burning fuel oil and now bullets were coming at them. The sea was tinged black with fuel and then it turned red with the blood of the crew. Josh could hear the screams of the wounded, the dying, the burning, and the curses of those who used their last breath to shout at the gunners on the battlecruiser. He also smelled the blood of the crew dying in the water, the excitement and eager anticipation of the gunners on the battlecruiser.

He grew angrier and gripped the radio transciever with such force he bent it. Cursing audibly, he stepped out ont the bridge and gave a glance back at Anne, he didn't even recognize the look of shock on her face as his eyes had turned from their usual green to a bright gold/silver mix and his teeth had already started to lengthen, and spoke, almost growling.

"I'll be _right_ back..."

Before Anne or any of the crew could ask what he meant, Josh leapt from the bridge and transformed into his true self in mid air. Gone was Joshua de Launces, the man. In his place was Joshua de Launces, the dragon, who hovered above the bridge, muzzle twisted into a savage snarl that showed his many gleaming white fangs. He gave his wings one or two stationary flaps and then took off towards the battlecruiser that had cut down the _Solent_'s crew.

As he released a roar that seemingly shook both heaven and earth, there was no doubt in anyone's mind, he was royally _pissed off_.

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Reyson had seen the battlecruiser gun down the _Solent_'s crew and was about to give them a taste of their own medicine when he heard a roar that came just as much through the radio as through the air and saw a massive white-silver dragon launch itself from the bridge of the _Beowulf_ and make a bee-line for the battlecruiser. Reyson gave a grin and clicked his radio.

"You boys wanna see why no one messes with one of Syllia's own de Launces dragons? Well, now's your chance. Commander de Launces has just shifted and he's going to kick some serious ass."

Reyson watched as Joshua hurled down onto the battlecruiser like the sword of Judgement itself, he smashed into the stern deck which was unarmored, tossing planes, bombs, topedoes, and other things everywhere. The crew was stunned for a moment and then hurriedly began firing small arms at him but the bullets just pinged off his scales. Using his claws, tail blade, and even his fangs, Josh made quick work of the deck crew and then went towards the aft bridge.

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He was vengeance.

He was rage.

He was fury.

He was justice.

Though not the oldest of James and Lysa's four children, Josh nevertheless was actually the biggest when in his dragon form. He was a good six feet taller than his brother, was more well muscled thanks to the Navy's intensive survival training, his wingspan was as wide as his Father's, and his tail was almost the same length as his body, so long in fact when he was younger he was always tripping over it, his cutlass shaped tailblade always gouging something when he moved it. Underneath the glossy scales, large, toned muscles rippled and flexed when he moved, if anyone had been standing by him while he moved, they would have heard his muscles creaking as he flexed and moved them. He was, quite literally, the strongest dragon in his family, physically speaking.

He had _never_ shifted before while in combat but at the moment he didn't give a damn.

He landed down on the aft deck of the ship with such force that he actually forced the stern of the ship to dip into the ocean eighteen feet before it came back level. The disorientation was enough for him to begin his attack on the ship. After making quick work of the deck crew, he broke the ship's radio mast from the aft bridge and, holding it in his foreclaws like a spear, tossed it _through_ the forward bridge. He then wrapped his muscular tail around the second smokestack, broke it free with a solid wrench and used it as a club bashing the aft bridge tower until it broke free with a shriek and fell over the side.

Soldiers were coming out of the merrimack bunkers on the port and starboard sides to see what the hell the noise was, had just enough time to pale and turn back to run for the safety of the bunker before Josh gripped them in his claws and tossed them either overboard or tossed them into the gun positions that moments ago had been engaged in wholesale murder. Using his forelegs, he ripped the roof of the port bunker open and started clawing and raking the men cowing inside it with his claws. It was at once exhilerating yet also repugnant.

He was enjoying, or perhaps more appropriately, savoring, their fear, the scent of adrenaline. He felt almost drunk with his anger. The screams of those he mauled and ripped apart not touching the human side of his conciousness. Right now, he was not a human in the Syllian Navy.

He was a dragon. A dragon who had seen his comrades cut down like dogs. Men and women he had met with, spoken with, drank with, and fought with.

One man tried to turn one of the machineguns on him but with a twist of his neck, Joshua grabbed the man with his fangs and bit down. _Hard_.

To say that the crewmen who saw this screamed was an understatement. Josh could swear their screaming somehow gained an even higher pitch to it, some went as far as to raise their screams an octave. Still, angry he may be, but he was not a murderer. His human side coming forth and gripping control as human blood flooded his mouth, coated his tongue and teeth.

The man's lower half fell to the deck and Joshua spat the other half into the sea, much to the delight of the sharks that had now gathered at the scent of blood. He allowed a moment to retch and use seawater to rinse his mouth before he turned to the starboard bunker, fangs still gleaming but still stained with gore, and as before, ripped this one apart with his claws, killing the enemy within the fortification like a terrier going after rats that had dug themselves into their burrows.

Next and last was the forward bridge and the two turrets on the bow. Using the first smokestack as he had used the second, Josh used it like a hammer and impacted the top two levels of the bridge before giving it a shove and sending it falling onto the two turrets that were smashed by the weight of the structure. Then, not satisfied with that, he dove into the water on the starboard side, swam under the ship and saw a small structure that looked to be some sort of sub pen. He twisted through the water like a corkscrew and again ripped the structure free of the ship, snarling satisfiedly as he saw men also fall from the hole in the ship and scream underwater as they saw what awaited them.

He released the sub pen to sink and then surfaced, climbed aboard the ship to shake the water from his wings and lifted off to return to the _Beowulf_, not sparing a glance as the battlecruiser, which now caught fire as the magazine ruptured, rolled, and sank beneath the waves.

As he made ready to land on the _Beowulf_, he began changing mid-landing and by the time he landed back on the lookout post, his wings had shrunk back into his back and he straightened his uniform as if nothing had happened and took his position on the bridge despite the shocked stares of his crew. Anne approached him, somewhat fearful and tapped his shoulder.

"F-Feel better, sir?" Josh gazed around at their frightened expressions and sighed deeply.

"Yes. Forgive me, I quite lost myself for a moment. Father and Mother always told me to never shift out of anger nor attack with rage. It's just that, seeing men under _my_ command being murdered like that...it just...I saw red and there's no excuse for it. If you wish me to, I shall relieve myself and allow you command, Ann-Lieutenant."

This announcement somewhat shocked her and the crew but then she allowed her fear to fade as she realized that, despite the change, the scales...the fangs...this was still the same man who was her Captain. Her friend.

The man she had fallen in love with.

Anne stepped back and saluted and smiled.

"Welcome back aboard sir! Damn glad to see that those bastards got their just rewards." This was seconded by the crew as they began cheering and one joked about how to 'remind him to never piss the Commander off'. Josh nodded but then sank back into his chair and breathed heaviy for a moment, his face going gaunt for a moment as he also began to perspire heavily as if a great physical toll had just made itself known to him. Josh saw the crew's expression change and he waved them off.

"I forgot how exhausting that is. In my rage I forget how difficult it is to break a steel superstructure from its moorings or how difficult it is to crush a smokestack with my tail. I daresay I won't be shifting for a while, and when I do, I'll _definately _be hurting. Most likely I'll be spending the entirety of my next shore leave tending to those aches." The gunnery officer laughed.

"No need to worry about that, sir. You rest, we've pretty much got the bastards wrapped up now." No sooner had the words been out of his mouth than the radar operator paled and turned to face Josh.

"Sir, I've got new contacts on the mid-range scope. Twenty-eight ships closing fast. Twelve of them battleship sized. All hostile."

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To be continued...


	29. Battle of White Sands Part 3

Alright everyone, part 3 of the White Sands Battle is posted. Whew! Now I need some R&amp;R myself. Though, given how fast my mind works sometimes, I doubt that'll be possible.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

_On a side note, I DO however, now own roughly thirteen dogs as my sister-in-law's dog just had puppies a few weeks ago. If any readers are interested and live in Louisiana, I'd much appreciate a hand. There are four half-grown pups from her last litter and now there's nine newborn pups that have just opened their eyes. All resemble their mother and have those adorable labrador characteristics._

Chapter 28: Battle of White Sands, Part 3

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Josh stood dumbfounded at the radar operator as he called out the contact and gazing around saw many of the crew blanch. He gazed at one man in particular who looked to him and, in an effort to break the tension, said the first thing that came to his mind.

"Anyone so much as utter the phrase 'bring me my brown pants', I'm personally throwing them off this ship."

The remark caused a few nervous laughs but otherwise had no effect. Josh then grew more serious and then approached the radar station.

"So...twelve battleships, was it?" The operator nodded slowly as if afraid to gaze away at the screen and towards his Commander. Josh then sighed and turned to Anne.

"Raise the _Bastion_ on the radio and tell them to pick up what survivors from the _Solent _they can and fall back. Then contact the rest of the fleet and tell them to array themselves in a pickett line so that we can fire broadsides as well as torpedoes at the enemy when they arrive. I know that many of you would prefer we fall back as well, but listen, White Sands is a lynchpin in our efforts to assist and liberate Tullinar. If we fall back here, our efforts on shore will stall. If we don't face this foe, someone else will and then _they_ may pay the ultimate price for our inaction. This position is dangerous but it is not impossible. No matter how badly we're hit, we must keep up the fight and hold true to our Navy's creed: Never Give Up The Ship."

The bridge was silent for a moment. Josh feared his words hadn't sunk in until, as one, the entire crew snapped to attention and saluted him, each sailor showing strong and fierce resolve on his or her face. He was then aware that he was holding the ship's PA transmitter in his hand and released the button. All at once, compartments began coming on.

_"Commander, this is Compartment One. We are manned and ready."_

_ "Compartment Two, awaiting our orders, Commander."_

_ "Compartment Three - One, manned and ready."_

_ "Compartment Three - Two, Turret One, awaiting firing solution."_

_ "Compartment Four, a little waterlogged, but we are manned and ready."_

_ "Compartment Five, pumps are working. Manned and ready for duty."_

_ "Fire extinguished in Compartment Six, all positions manned and ready."_

_ "Port batteries armed and ready."_

_ "Starboard batteries repaired and ready, Commander."_

_ "Compartment Seven, Engine One, manned and ready."_

_ "Compartment Eight-One, Engine Two, manned and ready."_

_ "Compartment Eight-Two, Turret Two, ready and willing."_

_ "Compartment Nine-One, all hands to stations."_

_ "Compartment Nine-Two, Turret Three, all guns ready."_

_ "Compartment Ten, Engine Three, ready to serve the Homeland, Commander."_

Josh stood as Anne walked before him and saluted him, a broad smile on her face.

"All Compartments ready and waiting, Commander. We will stand by you whatever comes at us." Josh nodded and turned to the bridge crew and chuckled.

"They say that a ship's crew is like a second family. Today, all of you just proved that right. XO, get in touch with our aircraft and see if they can recon the enemy group without getting their asses shot off. All hands, battlestations!"

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Reyson and his group was off like a shot when Anne's request came to them. Upon hearing that an even larger group, comprised primarily of battleships, was nearly upon the battlegroup, every pilot became itchy.

For some that was a good thing, others...not so much.

Most of the nuggets, probably expecting a short battle that would make them all aces instead of a drawn out slug-fest that most of them probably wouldn't live to see the end of, were the worst cases. Six times he heard someone request permission to disengage and return to the carrier only to be told by Gerald to shut up and do their duty. Reyson finally tired of it himself and keyed the radio.

"Gerald. These kids are scared. They've never been in a battle this big and this drawn out before. If they want to return to the carrier as it bugs out well then that's on them." The response was instant...and fiery.

_"Rey, you don't get it. The only way for these kids to learn how to be fighter pilots is for them to go through hell. I know the Dalon Conflict wasn't a bloodless conflict but dammit the Aerocorps saw a lot less action than the ground forces. It wasn't until the Callinar Incursion that fighter tactics evolved to fit modern warfare. I was baptised in hellfire the day my squadron led a raid on Vermetsk. In that one battle, I lost more friends than I care to admit. I've __**seen**__ brutality. I've __**seen**__ slaughter. In that conflict, I saw things that would have driven most men insane. The Rotarians are a special kind of pilot. They are basically hardwired not to show mercy, not to withdraw, and never quit. These nuggets withdraw, that just means our asses'll be hanging out and the enemy will have some easy kills when they decide to stop toying with us and go after the _Bastion._"_ Reyson sighed as he heard his friends and also heard the half-hearted shouts of outrage from the pilots flying with them.

"Attention, all planes. Though put rather bluntly, Captain Ross is right. We need _every_ available pilot and plane in the air. I know that a battle of this magnitude scares you, hell, it scares _me_. But think on this. We don't put up a fight, the enemy may sink our ships. And in case none of you have done the numbers, those capital ships like the _Beowulf_, _Minotaur_, and _Bastion_? Each of them has a crew of roughly two to three hundred men and women aboard. We are one unit, one pilot, one plane. Our duty is to protect the fleet, no matter what."

_"Even if we're ount numbered and outmatched, sir?"_

"Even then. Now cut the chatter, I see the smoke from the group's engines. Keep an eye out for enemy planes and call them out when you see them. Gerald, let's see how badly the _Beowulf_ is outgunned."

With Gerald at his side, Reyson dove to investigate the enemy fleet steaming towards the _Beowulf_ and swore when he saw the numbers.

"_Beowulf_, this is Warbird, just by seeing the size of the enemy fleet, I can comfortably say that we're in deep shit. I can confirm twelve battleships surrounded by what looks to be six battlecruisers, three anti-air cruisers, the rest are those damnable heavy destroyers. What are our orders?" Reyson heard muttering and then heard Josh's voice over the line.

_"Warbird, how many aircraft still have anti-ship ordnance ready?"_ Reyson sighed.

"None. All anti-ship ordnance expended. Unless you want us to strafe their decks a few times we can do that but as for taking out their heavy hitters, we'd have to return to the _Bastion_ and rearm and that would take too long. Josh, be candid with me, how well is your group?"

_"Not so good. The _Solent_ is sunk, _Minerva_ is dead in the water, _Minotaur _has only is stern turrets left operational, and we just retrieved the group from the _Aurora_ who boarded the _Lion_ and reported that there was blood and bodies everywhere. Looks like the ship had been boarded and then once the crew was killed, they send a distress call feining trouble. I don't want to say it was a trap but, what else was it?"_

"Warbird copies Commander. Some of our pilots want to land and rearm and quite frankly, I'm thinking about letting them do it, unless you say no, that is."

_"Beowulf to all planes, proceed to _Bastion_ to rearm and refuel. Take it in stages so that we don't lose our CAP altogether. Once you're back up, engage the enemy with the utmost haste."_

"Warbird copies. Godspeed _Beowulf_."

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Josh let the reciever drop as his shoulders sagged. He was already starting to feel his muscles and body tighten almost to the point of cramping from his earlier actions. Though he was in pain, he didn't let it show and kept soldiering on. Ignoring a spasm in his left arm, he turned to Anne who shook her head.

"Long range transmissions are still impossible at this moment, sir. That stray shell may not have hit the intended target but it did enough damage without striking the hull."

While Josh had been scrapping the battlecruiser, a destroyer had charged at the _Beowulf_ even though it was a suicide attack and was sunk while trying to ram the ship. In one last apparent act of defiance, the ship's bow turret fired a shell meant to go through the wheel house but was aimed too high and shot the long range radio mast in half. Now the damage control team was hastily working to weld the two pieces of the mast together all the while the enemy carrier and its few remaining escorts retreated to the safety of the incoming fleet.

It gave Josh's group a moment's respite but that wasn't going to last long. Josh's mind worked quickly to devise a possible battle plane and then looked back at Anne when he had one.

"Tell the DC teams to focus on restoring the radio. If we can't get a transmission out, we're leaving the fleet flat-footed-Grr!" That groan caught Anne's attention and she saw Josh wince visibly as his right arm spasmed. She thought for a moment she could see muscles in his arms writhe under his uniform. After a moment, the writhing stopped and Josh panted lightly.

"Maybe you should rest in your quarters, sir? We all witnessed what you did and none among us would think the less of you for doing so." Josh half grinned-half grimaced at his XO but then dismissed the notion.

"No that won't be nessessary. I can retain this form long enough to see us through the battle. Afterwards though, all bets are off. I...I will need some time in my natural form in order to release the tension in my body. Heh, Dad always said I was a fool for always pushing my limits. This time, I think I may have went too far." Anne sighed as he said this and then smiled a knowing smile.

"Well, no matter what happens, know this, by doing what you did, you scared the enemy pretty damn good and also probably earned the respect of the entire crew, if you didn't have it already. No matter what you have to do to uncoil yourself,even if it's rest in a lair for a week, we'd gladly stand guard while you're vulnerable." Josh nodded and then went back to watching the bridge. Moments later, the radar operator raised his hand.

"Contacts closing! Multiple enemy planes bearing 355 to 010. I guess they're through dicking around. I count at least twelve large blips meaning possibly two-hundred plus aircraft inbound." Josh nodded and looked to the helmsman.

"Helm, right full rudder. All engines, ahead flank. Man anti-air guns, we're standing at the gates of hell, and we're about to send the enemy in ahead of us." At that moment, the ship's doctor came in, looking rather ragged and covered in blood.

"One of the batteries was strafed last time, I've got several crew from the AA positions in sickbay. Who's going to man their guns?"

As if in answer, several ship-board Marines came forward and requested to be assigned to the AA guns left vacent by the wounded. This got the doctor's attention and he frowned.

"You Marines don't know how to operate ship-board weapons, and on top of that you do not have any flak armor, what if you get killed?" In response, the commanding Marine laughed.

"Haven't you heard doc? Marines don't die, we just go to Hell and regroup."

Before anyone could say anything else, the group of Marines hotfooted it out of the bridge and made their way to the batteries on the port side of smokestack 1.

The _Tribal_, _Aurora_, and _Minotaur_ were soon in formation with the _Beowulf_ and as soon as they could hear the drone of the engines above, they opened fire with everything they had. Through the commotion, Josh kept hearing a crackling noise through the radio and finally, on a whim, grabbed the radio and held it close to his ear.

_"Atten...ian Fleet...the 1524...ulinar Supp...ing...Syllian...eet...y.u...copy?"_ Josh immediatly keyed the radio.

"Attention incoming wing, this is the _Beowulf_, we have lost our radioes and are unable to recieve you clearly. Switch you radioes to close range transmission and I'll be able to recieve you." Moments later a voice came through loud and clear.

_"Attention _Beowulf_, this is the Tullanian 1524th Heavy Support Wing, outbound from Brooksfield. We are fifty-six strong and looking for a fight. Judging by the flak you're putting up I'd say you have a rather large furball coming down on your heads."_

"You can say that again 1524. We have an enemy carrier, largest I've ever seen, and several aircraft-armed battlecruisers that have given us a black eye but are hanging back. We have a battle fleet including twelve battleships coming in to finish us off after the planes soften us up and could really use some help here."

_"Well now that sounds like a right proper invitation. _Beowulf, _you just made my Saint's Day card list. We've been looking for a fight ever since you boys dropped anchor and started lending a hand. 1524 is divided into three wings: Eagle, Condor, and Falcon. Name's Major Lee Dixon, callsign Eagle 1, and we'll be you CAP until your boys get back in the air."_ Josh saw the faces of his crew bean when they heard that and he smiled.

"Well Eagle 1, I hope you like a pitched fight, those bastards have over two-hundred planes in the air at the moment and I don't believe their battlecruisers have launched theirs yet." Laughter came through next.

_"Is that all? Shoot, we'll have that mess sorted out before those Praetorian boys get here."_

THAT got Josh's attention.

"Praetoria?! The Empire's sending a force over?"

_"Yep. Crossed paths with them a while ago, they were on support but radioed that they had a force inbound to White Sands to reinforce you. This battle, it's more than a skirmish. By our intel, you've traded blows with the Rotarian 2nd Special Carrier Fleet and are now closing with the Rotarian 26th Heavy Combat Fleet. We're just the first of your reinforcements. If you can hold out a little longer, you'll be getting more."_ Josh could barely keep the relief out of his voice.

"Thanks for the news Eagle 1. Give 'em hell."

_"We fully intend to."_

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The 1524th had been one of the few remaining squadrons still fighting after the occupation, primarily by engaging in hit and run attacks with transports and small fighter groups and moving from place to place. If there was one thing that could be said about Tullinar aircraft, they were not the fastest nor the most maneuverable planes in the air but there sure were the sturdiest.

Eagle Squadron was equipped with the T-40F, a heavy single seat fighter/ground attack aircraft armed with six bulky .50 caliber machineguns in the wings and capable of carrying bombs, rockets, or anything else. The common nickname for the T-40 fighter family was 'the Jug' or 'Juggernaut'. Condor Squadron was equipped with the twin-engine TP-39Ls which had an incredible mixed armament of four 20mm cannons and six .50 caliber machineguns and due to their high speed, were often called 'Lightnings'. Lastly was Falcon Squadron which was flying the last fighter Tullinar mass produced before the occupation, the V-166B single-seat fast interceptor. Armed with two 20mm cannons and eight .50 caliber machineguns, they were a force to be reckoned with.

Major Lee Dixon had been with the 1524 throughout the occupation and had been flying since the start of the war with the Damoneni Invasion. He had seen the first assault, the sacking of Vernon, the encirclement of the capital city, the retreat at Calais, and the valiant stand at Kukri. After that he had done a variety of hit and run missions and was already considered one of Tullinar's greatest pilots.

As the 1524 closed with the Rotarian planes, they seemingly were fixated upon the Syllian ships and nothing else as they attacked time after time. The Syllian ships were throwing up an impressive front of ack ack fire but it was obvious the gun crews were at their limits. After seeing how the enemy behaved, Dixon formed a plan.

"All planes, listen up, our objective is to prevent further losses of the Syllian force. Judging by the wreckage they seem to have lost two ships and have a third heavily damaged. Above all else protect the flagship, the battlecruiser _Beowulf_, there in the center of the formation. You are clear to engage and destroy any and all enemy planes in the air. Condor Squadron, you are going to engage that enemy carrier before it gets within protection range of those AA cruisers! Eagle will prtect you from enemy planes while you attack and Falcon will provide a CAP to the fleet!"

A chorus of confirmations came through the radio as each plane dove onto the still unaware enemy and, upon firing into the massed dive bombers moving to attack the _Minotaur_, shattered the enemy plane formation like a brick through a glass window. Dixon smiled as he shot down one of the planes.

"Yeah, that's right, wonder where the hell we came from you bastards!"

Gazing about for another target, he saw one of the Falcons down another and then engage a group of three torpedo bombers starting their runs.

"Engage the torpedo bombers! If the Syllians lose the _Minotaur_, they lose half their strength with that cruiser!"

The Condors were turning and lining up in formation behind Condor One, the lead plane with the famous 'droop-snoot' design. Droop-snoot TP-39s were planes modified but having the solid, gun-laden, nose replaced with a frame and glazed glass canopy to fit a bombadier and the N-107 precision bombsight. Formations of these planes would line up behind the designated lead and drop their ordnance when they saw the lead plane drop their's. Each TP-39 was armed with either four 1,000 pound bombs or ten 15 inch plane-launched anti-ship (PLAS-15) rockets.

In the distance, making all haste to get under the protective fire range of the AA cruisers was the enemy supercarrier, smoke billowed from it's smokestack indicating the crew in the boiler room were likely burning everything but the kitchen sink to try and boost the ship's speed. The only escorts with it were the two cruisers that had been damaged but survived while the destroyers were dropping depth charges in an effort to sink a sub that was shadowing them. As Dixon thought how best to fot to the situation, a loud voice came through the radio.

_"This is Ross! I am reloaded, refueled, and returning to action! All ships be advised, Warbird Squadron took off before us and have headed towards the main fleet on intercept course!"_

Dixon returned his attention to the Condors and saw that they were almost to the carrier when flak started exploding all around them. He gazed down and saw that the AA cruisers, seeing what the squadron intended, had broke from the fleet and had all but chased down the carrier in an effort to shield it.

"This is Eagle One, all Condors disengage! That flak is too thick!"

For a moment he was worried the order had come too late when he saw rockets streak from the clouds and slam into one of the AA cruisers. Moments later, twelve planes painted in Syllian colors blew through the cloud cover and started launching a second attack on the second AA cruiser.

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Reyson was seeing red. He had rushed the rearmamnet of his squadron to engage the enemy carrier and now the Tullinar wing had blown his surprise attack. Still, he had Gerald's squadron ready to attack, all he had to do was clear the enemy AA cruisers and the ship would be exposed and all planes could attack the enemy fleet unimpeded.

As he pulled the trigger, he smiled as one of his rockets went down the funnel of the second AA cruiser causing a brilliant explosion in the belly of the ship which sent a fireball blasting from the smokestack. He broke off from his wing, they knew their objectives, and circled about to finish off the disabled vessel.

_'BANG!'_

The explosion of the flak burst was so loud it momentarily deafened him. He felt something wet on his face and saw that an oil line had burst, spraying him with oil. He checked his panels and saw that the gauges were going crazy and that though the canopy had held, it was still like looking a a stained glass window in a cathedral.

An electric beep got his attention and he saw that he was losing fuel, and altitude, fast.

Gripping the flight stick, he managed to straighten out the plane and then angle it towards the enemy carrier. In one last effort, he fired the two remaining rockets at the ship and through sheer luck, both impacted the thinly armored flight deck and exploded below where ammunition and fuel was held.

A _MASSIVE_ explosion shook his plane and he saw the port flight deck actually catch fire and flip up and over onto the other deck, spreading the flames to the ammo, fuel, and planes on the other side which also exploded.

His radio wasn't recieving anything but the transmitter light still shown green. As the AA cruisers angrily poured flak at him for ruining their defence, he keyed the radio.

"Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. This is Warbird 1. I am hit and am going down. I...I confirm two hits on the enemy carrier. Can anyone see if it's sunk?"

There was silence for a moment and he keyed the radio again.

"I'm unable to return to the _Bastion_ and have lost lateral controls. I'm going to have to ditch into the ocean. Warbird 1, signing off."

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Josh saw the plane hit. He saw the two rockets that crippled the enemy carrier. Then, the radio came to life.

_"Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. This is Warbird 1. I am hit and am going down. I...I confirm two hits on the enemy carrier. Can anyone see if it's sunk?"_

Josh grabbed the reciever and yelled into it.

"Warbird 1 this is _Beowulf_, we confirm disabling of the enemy carrier! If you can hear me, come about and try to bail out near the ship!" Josh turned to the Gunnery Chief.

"Chief! Have out turrets focus on those AA cruisers, blast those bastards down to the Abyss!" As Josh said this, the radio came on again.

_"I'm unable to return to the Bastion and have lost lateral controls. I'm going to have to ditch into the ocean. Warbird 1, signing off."_

Josh watched as the plane started billowing smoke and fire from the cowling and it started a descent towards the water. All the while, he kept hoping to see the tell-tale white of a parachute. As the plane went down, he lost sight of it behind the carrier before it appeared again, thirty feet off the ground.

An enemy AA cruiser that had been following the plane's descent, fire a point blank burst of flak at Reyson's plane. Josh watched in horror as the tail section was ripped free and the wings broke and the rest of the plane plunged into the cold ocean water. Asecond later, the cannons of the _Beowulf_ opened fire with a broadside that ripped the enemy vessel's starboard side open. Within seconds, the ship rolled onto its side and sank. The crew never having stood a chance to get to a lifeboat.

As if expecting the order from Josh, Anne had the 'Man Overboard' claxon sound and the _Beowulf _broke formation to steam towards the crash site.

When they arrived though, all they found was an oil slick, some light debris, and Reyson Havver's white Ace's scarf.

The scarf was stained with blood.

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Okay, this chapter ran a little long so I had to add another part to the battle. For those of you wondering, is Reyson dead? Well, let me leave you with the words of General MacArthur.

'Old soldiers never die, they just fade away.'


	30. Battle of White Sands Part 4

Here it is. The last chapter of the Battle for White Sands. This is by no means the end of World Fury though, I think I may have yet another 28, 29, or 30 chapters in me before this story draws to a close.

Hmm...I wonder how many pages this story would be...

Anyway, on with the story.

BTW: Rotarian ships are not named but rather numbered so when I refer to a Rotarian ship, I shall give its designation (ex: battleship: BB) and the number.

ex: Rotarian battleship number 22 (BB22)

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 29: Battle for White Sands, Part 4

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Gerald and his squadron were almost to the battle when Reyson's mayday came over the radio and then moments later the _Beowulf _came over the radio.

_"We have found Commander Havvers' crash site, however there is no sign of him. All evidence seems to claim that he was unable to escape and went down with his plane."_

Gerald clutched the little medallion he always carried in his hand when he flew and said a prayer for Reyson. Then he switched to squadron frequency and keyed the comm.

"This is Ross, effective immediately I am requesting command of Reyson's squadron in conjunction with my own. We are still armed with anti-ship weaponry and I fully intend on making these bastards rue the day they took one of our best pilots from this world. Requesting permission to finish off the enemy carrier but that it be claimed as Reyson's kill."

_"This is _Beowulf_. Permission granted. You might have to fight your way through a battleship or two as the carrier has made it to the fleet and is attempting to withdraw. Without its flight decks operational it is useless as a combat vessel. Still, we cannot allow them to dry dock that ship and repair it."_

"Beowulf, my men and I would fight through half the damn Rotarian Navy for a crack at that carrier."

_"Well, it's a good thing you won't have to Group Leader."_

Gerald was caught of guard by the sudden transmission of what was obviously a Praetorian accent on the frequency.

"This is the _Bastion_ 2nd Fighter Group. Identify yourselves."

The droning of engines got his attention and he glanced left to see an entire formation (4 wings) of Praetorian planes comprised mainly of single-engine A210-B3 and twin-engine F211 fighter/bombers, and B208 single-engine light bombers.

_"This is the Praetorian 16th Imperial Combat Wing, Wing Commander Edward Bates commanding and speaking. Based out of Dune City on the Damonenian border. We heard you lads were in a bit of a spot and high command thought it best if we got over here and lend you a hand. Especially seeing as our new Empress and Lord Chancellor are your former King and Queen."_ Gerald sighed and smiled and keyed the mike.

"God Bless the Empress." This brought laughter from the Praetorian planes.

_"Quite. Now then, Commander Ross, what pray tell is the sticky wicket we may help you with today?"_ Gerald was near the battle and scanned it visually to confirm it then answered.

"To put it bluntly Commander, the enemy has opened the gates of hell and have sent the damned to slaughter us. On our side we've got a battlecruiser, a cruiser, a heavy destroyer, and two destroyers against twelve battleships, six battlecruisers, one anti-air cruiser, a damaged supercarrier that's trying to slink out of combat, and a damned flotilla of heavy destroyers. On top of that, we just lost our senior most pilot, Reyson Havvers and it appears as though what's left of his squadron got hammered real bad after he went down. Can you help us thin them out?"

_"That's why we're here, Commander. Now then, as we are carrying ordnance that may prove quite...hazardous...to the enemy's health, please clear the way for our bombers to breach the enemy fleet. I promise you, you'll be in for quite a show."_ Gerald laughed.

"I'll hold you to that, oh, and tell your men that if any of you sink that bastard of a carrier, I'll personally buy a round for the whole damn wing."

_"Right, well fair to warn you that as most of us come from the the desert and we tend to work up quite a thirst. Alright, we're coming over the _Bastion_ now...Good night look at them all! I'd say you weren't exaggerating about the enemy Commander Ross. Not even Her Majesty's First Flotilla has that many battleships assigned to it."_ Gerald kept his thoughts to himself but couldn't resist jabbing the infamous Praetorian dry wit.

"Having second thoughts, Commander?"

_"Hardly. Just wondering how the hell we're going to tally up the kills here. It takes what, seven torpedoes to sink a battleship? If seven planes engage a ship and sink it, who gets the credit?"_

"Shall we list it by deathblow?"

_"He who kills it, keeps it? Rather archaic, don't you think?"_

"Seems the easiest way to go."

_"Very well, and, as our pride as Praetorian pilots is on the line as well as a free round at the next pub, I suppose we'd best outperform you lot."_ Gerald laughed and keyed the mike one last time.

"Gentlemen, the game is on."

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Josh couldn't possibly imaging what the Rotarians were thinking, seeing Syllian, Tullinar, and Praetorian planes coming down from on high but he satisfied himself with the guess that many of the enemy were rushing to find their brown pants. The _Beowulf _had rejoined the pickett line once they had cleared Reyson's crash site and had their guns turned to face the enemy fleet that was fast approaching.

Rotarian ships had names but they were not known to outsiders, rather, the ships had numbers painted on their hulls to identify them to each other and to the enemy. Through his binoculars, Josh saw one of the battleships, number 11, swing wide with battleships 8 and 44, rotating all guns to starboard to broadside the pickett line with their 17.5 inch guns.

The broadside fired at the same time as the _Beowulf_'s and the shells arced across the air almost intercepting each other. Geysers of water erupted from around the _Beowulf_ as shells hit the water. Explosions from behind the ship confirmed for Josh that one or more of his ships had been hit. Then the _Beowulf_ itself was rocked with an explosion that tore Josh's gaze to the stern where turrets two and three erupted into flames and the second smokestack, weakened from the first battle, broke free of its remaining cables and toppled overboard and sank. To his credit, Josh went immediately into damage control.

"Shut all vents to the second stack, it's gone. Someone get fire crews to turrets two and three to check for survivors! I need a status report from the other ships!" Anne came forward and saluted, her face worried.

"Commander, the _Beowulf _is damaged but it's light, no shells hit the hull or pierced the waterline. The _Minotaur_ was struck in the bridge and its fore and aft radar posts were destroyed as well as their bow turrets. The _Aurora _and _Tribal_ evaded the attack but the _Minerva_ was almost cut in half. Her engines are flooded, stern batteries destroyed, and she's burning. " Josh cursed and then turned back to the enemy fleet which was, undoubtably, preparing yet another broadside. The gunnery officer came up, a knowing look on his face.

"The first broadside was a bracketting attack to get the range right. You aren't assigned to a battleship unless you can accurately drop shells onto the enemy ships, that being said, battleship gunners are the best of the best. Chances are the second attack'll be the last." Josh nodded grimly.

The armor on the _Beowulf_ was just under 9 inches. No single hit would sink her but a full broadside from one battleship, twelve guns, would do severe damage. The _Minotaur_, being a standard cruiser, had 6.5 inches of armor, the _Aurora_ and _Tribal_ had 2 inches of armor, but still maintained their maneuverability. The _Minerva _though, damaged as she was, and with her 1.5 inch armor plates compromised in several areas, would take at least one more hit before she succumbed to her wounds. No matter how Josh did the math, the only ships capable of surviving a close range broadside of this magnitude was the _Beowulf_ and the _Minotaur_.

And that chance was a slim one, at best.

As Josh prepared to order all hands brace for impact, a loud whistling sound pierced the air from _behind_ them. Josh watched as several rounds, glowing red hot from the barrels that had fired them, sailed through the air and impacted BB11. Josh watched as turrets one and four exploded and sirens blared as fire quickly spread to, and destroyed turret three, crippling the battleship.

Wanting an explanation, Josh turned to the radar operator who was staring aghast at the screen and then he heard a lookout screaming his head off.

"The Fleet! The Fleet! Thanks be to God the Fleet has arrived!" As Josh turned to look for himself, a DC (Damage Control) engineer came in, beaming triumphantly.

"Long range radio repaired sir!" Josh flipped it on and was greeted by transmission after transmission coming in loud and clear.

_"Attention _RNV Beowulf_, this is the Battleship _RNV Indomitable, off of your starboard side. Commander, are you and your crew alright?" Josh recognized the voice and keyed it.

"Admiral Carver?! When did you set sail sir?"

_"Almost as soon as we recieved word that the enemy was launching a massive counteroffensive with the goal of stalling our ground forces. That, and the fact that when you stopped transmitting we assumed something was wrong. Looks like the Rotarians have thrown everything but the kitchen sink at you. Not to worry, have your vessels disengage and we'll take care of this rabble."_ Josh looked around to his crew and saw their expressions and keyed the radio.

"Understood sir, requesting assistance in evacuating one of my ships, the _Minerva_. She's been shot to hell and likely won't stay afloat for much longer. She also has numerous wounded and casualties."

_"I've already dispatched one of my heavy destroyers, the _Reliant_, to her side. Any other requests, Commander?"_ Josh keyed the mike, knowing what he wanted to say.

"Sir, I only ask that you give the enemy hell for what they've done today. They've murdered the crew of the _Lion_ and used her as a trap claiming she'd been diabled by a mine, sunk the _Solent_ and machinegunned her crew in the water we barely were able to save ten out of the hundred twenty-six of her crew and they were all wounded. They shot down Reyson Havvers, and have shown no pretense of honor. Sir, I ask that the fleet sink the enemy and let God sort them out."

_"Request understood and acknowledged Commander. Task Force 15, disengage and fall back to Broken Anchor. You've all done well."_

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The fleet was comprised not only of Syllian vessels but also Tellanian vessels that had been part of the Federal Navy-in-Exile. Most surprising was to see all six of the new Greagor-class battleships in the fleet. Being named after the late Lord Admiral William C. Greagor, these vessels were the pride of the Navy, an assignment that most sailors would have given anything to have.

Though the Syllian Greagor-class battleships and Tellanian D'Arc-class battleships didn't have anything close to the 17.5 inch guns of the Rotarian ships, their guns had been specially modified to fire what was known as 'Magnum Shells'; specially designed shells to fire in battleship engagements. The Greagor-class used 16.5 inch guns and the D'Arc had 15 inch guns but they were manned by the most experienced and veteran gunners both navies had to offer.

As soon as the _Beowulf_ and her group were out of the way, Admiral Carver turned to the Gunnery Officer aboard his flagship, _Indomitable_, and barked out the commands to prepare to fire. Moments later, the great slugfest had begun with battleships and battlecruisers sending broadsides back and forth, destroyers launching torpedoes and firing their dual purpose cannons at anything that so much as looked like an enemy plane.

One of the enemy battleships, BB12, was struck by four torpedoes, capsized and caught fire before a delayed broadside put enough holes in her to consign her to the deep. A hastily fired broadside raked the deck of another enemy battleship, collapsing its fore and aft bridges, smokestacks, and destroying the turrets.

The enemy, obviously not prepared for a long, drawn-out battle, began deploying smoke to cover their retreat. Admiral Carver saw this and smiled.

"Notify our air cover, it's open season on the enemy ships."

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Gerald was flying CAP when the announcement came over the radio. He immediately broke formation and keyed his radio.

"All aircraft, we are weapons hot. Give 'em hell!"

The remainder of Reyson squadron was equipped with bombs and they started harrassing one of the battleships when on of them managed to drop a bomb between the first and second turrets and detonated the magazine. The ship's bow lifted out of the water and exploded, sending the burning husk of the first turret down onto one of the battlecruisers nearby, smashing the flight deck and shooting the ruptured bow section forward cleaving a heavy destroyer in half.

A Syllian plane laoded down with rockets started taking potshots at the heavy destroyers trying to shield the capital ships with smoke and managed to sink three of them before fire from the AA cruiser drove him off. Moments later, a Praetorian light bomber dropped its entire load onto the cruiser, effectively detonating both fore and aft magazines and all but vaporizing the ship.

Now that the only strong anti-air vessel was sinking, the aircraft redoubled their efforts and the fleet began advancing towards the enemy, firing all the way. As they attacked, Gerald gazed up and saw the enemy carrier, unguarded, making its way away from the fight.

"Tally-ho on the carrier, she's sacrificing her escorts to make better speed while escaping, who wants to help me show them the error of their ways?" Almost instantly two Tullinar and Praetorian planes came up on his left and right wings.

_"This is Eagles One and Three of the Tullinar Force, we'll fly with you Commander."_

_ "You bloody well better not forget about us here, Commander."_

"Copy that. Alright, shall we draws straws for who gets the first crack at it?"

_"Well Commander there is an old Praetorian saying of age before beauty."_ This brought laughter from the Tullinar planes as well as a retort.

_"What are you saying Commander? Are you and old man or do you think you're beautiful?"_

_"Hardly. Far more likely that Commander Ross is old enough to be my Father and as for beauty, when we land I'll show you a picture of my wife and you'll see what beauty is. Commander Ross, you may take the first attack, we'll follow up and the Bozo brothers over there can have what's left."_

"Alright, here we go."

Gerald performed a textbook wingover and dove straight for the carrier, guns blazing. His cannons were ripping holes in the hastily repaired starboard flight deck and also ripping holes in any unfortunate crewmen caught below. When he felt he was going fast enough, he released the bombs under his wings and peeled away, turning back once he leveled just in time to see one of the elevators fitted to the deck for raising and lowering planes blown out of its housing, sail into the air thirty or forty feet and crash down onto the fantail before slinding into the sea.

Almost instantly, the remaining intact AA guns on the carrier targeted him.

"Boys, I think I got their attention. They must have been preparing a new wave of aircraft. With that elevator gone you can see clear below decks, see if one of you guys can't hit a bullseye."

_"This is Boxer Two, I have the hole, I'm going for it."_

One of the Praetorian bombers mimicked Gerald's maneuver and dove for the carrier. Belatedly, the AA gunners shifted fire upwards to the incoming attack aircraft. The pilot swore and then keyed his mike.

_"Where the hell did they get so much resistance?"_ Gerald answered bluntly.

"Probably because they weren't fighting for their lives earlier."

The AA and flak was impressive but not enough to stop the pilot and plane. The pilot waited a little longer than Gerald did and released his bombs a little lower and then leveled off and almost skimmed the flight deck as he 'de-assed the area'. Needless to say, the Rotarians were indeed storing fuel and ammunition below the flight deck for a quick deployment because no sooner had the Praetorian plane left the fantail did the whole starboard deck explode.

A flash fire blew open the hatches to the exterior elevators and also sent the remaining deck-locked elevators flying upwards. A good twenty feet of the flight deck lifted up and folded back onto itself. The sound of screeching metal could be heard as the supports and braces keeping the flight deck stable snapped and broke.

Gerald could only watch in mixed horror and fascination as the carrier all but split length-ways and the starboard flight deck broke away and sunk. Now unbalanced, the carrier rolled to port and capsized. The tower bridge hitting the water with enough force to tear it free of the deck and rip it apart, leaving a new hole where the bridge was supposed to be. The hull stayed rolled over on the port side. Gazing at the stern, Gerald could still see two of the four engines turning rapidly as if still trying to propel the ship forward.

The hull of the ship was a marvel to be sure. It appeared to have started as a deep water battleship of some sort but then two shallow draft hulls had been welded, bolted, and fitted together to allow for the flight decks to be added. The only fault in the design was that the hangars had been connected so the explosion that ripped the starboard deck away also mortally wounded the port deck and allowed it to roll. The ship remained as it was for thirty, perhaps forty-five seconds before the engines finally ground to a halt and the carrier finally sucumbed to the sea. Gerald waited until the last glimpse of the carrier was gone before he keyed his radio.

"This is Commander Ross to all planes and vessels, the enemy carrier has been sunk! Repeat, the supercarrier has been sunk!" Amidst the cheering that came through, the Praetorian commander spoke up.

_"Now then Commander Ross, I believe that our drinks, when you buy the round you promised us, well, after a day like today, nothing sounds better than a nice, cold beer. Or perhaps a nice spot of brandy, if you have it."_

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It was some time before the fleet returned to Broken Anchor. The crew of the _Beowulf_ had heard the news that the carrier was sunk but that joy was tempered by the losses they had sustained. Anne went over the casualty list before going into Josh's cabin and sighed.

The DC teams hadn't saved many. The crews of turrets two and three were wiped out, no survivors. Two men of the DC teams had been severly burned by the flames and another scalded when a steam pressure line burst. Six men had died when the second smokestack had broken free and crushed the batteries on that side. It had also taken the two AA gunners stationed on it with it.

The _Minerva_ had at first been towed but when she started taking on water, the captain of the _Reliant_ ordered her cut loose and scuttled. Twenty crew, out of eighty-five survived. The _Solent_ crew had ten survivors. The _Aurora _and _Tribal, _thankfully, didn't have any casualties thanks to their successful maneuvering. The _Minotaur_, with its bow turrets destroyed and the damage irreperable, was slated to be scrapped once the bodies of the dead crew were removed and identified.

As Anne went to open the hatch, she caught sight of her father approaching and shaking his head.

"The Commander's not in his quarters. He went out onto the beach nearby and haven't seen him since."

Anne relinquished the papers to her father and walked off the ship towards the stretch of white sand beach that was outside the harbor. She walked along the beach for a while but still saw no sign of Josh. There was a bend ahead where the beach wrapped the peninsula and, following a guess, she rounded the point and gasped with amazement.

There, sprawled onto the beach, completely stretched out, was Josh, in dragon form, groaning as his body worked to recover from his earlier exertions.

Now that she could see his true form, when he wasn't ripping apart battlecruisers, she had to admit he was immense. Josh's natural form was long enough from nose tip to tail tip would have placed him rivaling a destroyer. His wings, though folded, still had that appearance that, if he unfurled them, he could blot out the sun. His eyes were closed as Anne approached and she cautiously, gently, lay her hand on his foreleg and went wide-eyed as she felt his muscles under the scales tense and relax rapidly.

Josh opened his right eye and angled it towards her. Anne found herself breathless as she started into what was a solid mass of deep saphire and tinged silver. In the eye she could see her reflection and could also see the gentleness and kindness that underlay them. She froze for a moment before Josh blinked and spoke.

"Anne. Come to deliver the casualty reports?" Anne shook her head, more likely clearing her thoughts but still.

"No, I handed them off to my father when he told me you were out here. A-Are you in much pain?" Josh chuckled and then groaned as he flexed again. This time Anne could swear she heard his muscles straining and creaking as he moved. Seeing her expression, he rushed to reassure her.

"No, not like I was on the ship. On the ship, my body wanted to shift so that I could unwind the muscles. I waited too long to shift and now they've all cramped up. I'm just resting here, letting the sand bake them out. Though, it'll probably take most of the evening."

Anne looked at Josh's body and, thought she didn't know why, she eased a hand over the scales, assuring herself they weren't sharp, and then she started rubbing his foreleg. Josh's eye shot open and gazed at her again.

"A-Anne, what are you doing?" Anne smiled but kept rubbing.

"When I was little, my step-father had a servant who was an expert in therepy. She taught me how to relieve muscle cramps and spasms through massage. Heh, if mother had ever caught her teaching me what she knew, she'd have fired her. I figure, if dragon muscles are in any way similar to human muscles, you may have some points that can relieve the cramps." Josh sighed but didn't stop her as she kept rubbing. Soon though, he felt the pain in his right foreleg lessen, then dissipate altogether. Then, she felt her hands shift and start working on his neck and shoulders. Josh quickly remembered something and spoke.

"Anne, j-just what where y-you rub...uh...after exertions like that, dragon scales are often _very_ sensitive. I uh, think you might best stop and let me recover normally." Anne stopped and looked at him.

"Let you suffer? Why?" Josh quickly realized his poor choice of words and explained.

"It's not that, it's just...well...in dragon form, dragons usually either bath in water or rub scales with...their mates...to relax and get clean...Usually, with mated couples...a cleaning leads to...uh, something _else_ entirely." Anne understood immediately but then smiled and started rubbing again.

"Well then, it's a good thing that I like you Joshua de Launces."

_THAT_ got Josh's attention and he angled his eye back and saw her grinning like a schoolgirl and soon enough, he too, started grinning like a fool.

"So...you don't mind that I'm a dragon pretending to be a human?" Anne chuckled.

"You're not a dragon pretending. You have a human side. I'm comfortable around you, human or dragon, I don't care." Josh's smile widened and he lay his bead backdown, thoughts swimming and then, much to his amazement (and to Anne's humor), he started purring. He heard Anne comment about how he sounded like a large cat but paid it no mind.

Here was a woman, a _human_ woman, who just said she liked him. Not just like liked him but liked _liked_ him. He felt his neck loosen enough so that he could turn it and, in his thoughts, he misjudged the distance to Anne and his snout was right in front of her. Then, she kissed him, on the snout and embraced his dragon head.

"Joshua de Launces, when this war is over, do you think...I mean." Josh chuckled and eyed her.

"Normally it's the male who asks the female to be his mate, not the other way around." Anne chuckled, then moved to sit next to him and motioned for him to lower his head.

"Well, what can I say, I take after my father in that I march to the beat of my own drum." Josh chuckled and lay his head down onto her lap and smiled.

"That you do Anne. That you do."

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(Launces)

Jake Havvers and the rest of the Launces First Air Wing had just landed their aircraft from another patrol. Near him of course Sahne flurting with Ayatane. Werner, the squadron's griffon mascot, talking with Voss, Wolff, and, Kani. Bertram and Dieter swapping stories and several others of the wing listening with rapt attention. He heard an engine stop outside the hangar and saw some soldiers come in wearing their dress uniforms. Bertram saw this and rose.

"Can we help you gentlemen?" One of them saluted him but then turned to Jake.

"Jacob Havvers?" Jake nodded as the other came forward.

"Sir, what we have to say would be best done in private." Jake shook his head, unaware of anything amiss.

"What you say to me you can say to my squadron, we keep no secrets from one another." The man gazed to the other pilots, his eyes lingered on the Rotarian pilots and Werner before returning to Jake.

"Sir, we regret to inform you that your father, Reyson Havvers...has been shot down and is presumed lost at sea during the Battle of White Sands that ended earlier today. The battlecruiser _Beowulf_, under the command of Joshua de Launces, found the wreck site but the plane is believed to have sunk before he could escape. I...I am sorry, sir for your loss and felt it prudent to inform you before we travel to the city proper and inform your mother."

Jake reeled as if struck and hurriedly took a seat in a chair one of the ground crew had been quick-witted enough to fetch. Bertram closed with his friend and, for the first time since his grandfather, Jonathan Havvers, had died, Bertram saw his friend weep openly.

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(Near White Sands)

The small boat plowed through the water. Spotlight going back and forth shining in the faces of the floating dead. The majority of whom were Rotarian. The men and the boat however, were not Rotarian, they were from Tullinar. The sight where the battle had taken place was their fishing spot and, since the fish seemed...reluctant...to come to their nets, they decided they would profit from the misfortune of the deceased. The men would pull a body up, strip if of anythin that looked valuable as well as the life jacket, then release the body to be embraced by the depths. They already had a collection of watches, rings, ID cards, knives, sidearms, (soggy) cigarettes, some flasks with Rotarian liquor (which they poured out).

In the distance, one of the men spotted something glowing red and motioned it to his fellows who, curious, went in to inspect the sight.

When they arrived, they found a middle-aged man, holding a red distress flare in a deathgrip. He had evidentaly pulled himsefl from the waters and onto a piece of debris and ignited the flare. From the uniform, they could see he was Syllian so instead of looting him, they made their way to bury him at sea. However, just as one of them touched the man, his eyes shot open, he took three deep breaths and locked eyes with the men who staggered back swearing in both fear and surprise. The pilot looked the Captain in the eye before passing out. The Captain turned and looked to his men.

"Let's get him to shore! Quickly!"

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Well, there's the end of the Battle of White Sands, I hope you all enjoyed it. Well now the next chapter will shift focus back to Syllia and now the war shall escalate. With Mechanos' plans in Tullinar unravalling, what will he do next?

Next chapter will say it.

Next Chapter: Blitzkrieg


	31. A Long Awaited Reunion

Hey guys, sorry for the change to the chapter title, I got to thinking about what would be the best kind of chapter to put in between what has come before and what is to come now and decided that a little family reunion was in order.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 30: A Long Awaited Reunion

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Josh and Anne stood in Admiral Carver's 'office' while he eyed them sternly. News of their proposal and subsequent engagement had made the rounds among the ships and crews faster than the bets over the fleet boxing match. They had been waiting for a while and Carver still said nothing but Josh get the feeling he was just searching for the right thing to say. Admiral Carver was not a strict man, nor was he a traditionalist. In fact it had been Admiral Carver who had put Josh's name forward to command the _Beowulf _in the first place.

He thought about the dry-docked battlecruiser and inwardly sighed.

_(Is that it? Getting my ship shot up during an engagement? We were outnumbered, outgunned, and unprepared to face a fleet of that magnitude. We had some casualties, yes, but then again, I'm just happy we didn't have more than we did.)_

Josh's thoughts were interuppted when Carver coughed and stood, his eyes losing the stern demeanor and regaining their usual light.

"I suppose congratulations are in order, Commander? I usually don't like my subordinates having romantic notions behind my back but this time I'm making an exception because I'm afraid your time under my command has come to an end." Josh heard this and went wide-eyed.

"Sir? Have I done anything to warrant this?" Carver realized he made the news sound graver than he intended and ammended his previous words.

"Rest assured Commander, no disciplinary action whatsoever, is to be taken. It's just that, you showed yourself well yesterday and the report has already been sent to Sanijo and Royalis. Fact is that, because you are a skilled officer, we can ill afford to lose you to half-baked missions like this one was. We were expecting a simple search and rescue but that went belly up as soon as you arrived." Carver stood and walked to the porthole and gazed out fo it before turning back to Josh.

"You found yourself smack in front of an enemy fleet coming to surprise us and you held your own. Heh, and gave them a few black eyes and bruised egos to show it." He returned to his desk and removed a folder and set it on the desk.

"Now, word of warning, I have absolutely _no_ idea what the Admiralty plans to do. Perhaps give you an instructor position at Harbortown, or maybe they plan on giving you a new command, that's all up in the air at the moment. Needless to say is that you, Commander, your XO, and a few select others from your crew and fleet will be going home on the next flight." He checked his watch.

"Flight leaves at 11:45. Which gives you, two hours to stow your gear, load it, and get to the airfield. Dismissed." Josh and Anne saluted and turned before Carver called after them a second.

"Almost forgot the most important thing and the reason I called you in here." He handed Anne a small box and smiled.

"Congratulations, Anne, Josh. I wish you all the best."

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(Launces)

George de Launces sat in the chair in his room at home. He had been recovering from injuries sustained at the Battle of Ursa and was just now beginning to get up and move around. He tried to concentrate on the sheets of music in front of him and tried to come up with the correct notes. While recovering, he thought the opportunity to complete one of his most complex works was presenting itself and he was hard at work trying to combine the pieces.

The song was untitled, there were numerous pieces for strings such as violins, cellos, and harps; woodwinds including flutes, clarinets, oboes, and even a few bassoons; brass instruments like baritones, tubas, trumbones, trumpets (oh good grief the trumpets), and spiral horns. Not to mention percussion pieces. There was even a piano, harpischord, and a possible segment for a grand pipe organ.

Finding the right notes was often tiring so he rose and put on another song, Correlli's Adagio in G minor and let the music echo through the all but empty halls. Looking out the window, he saw the Launces Home Guard on drill as well as the Launces 1st Wing, his brother's wing, minus Jake Havvers, who was with his Mother as she grieved, preparing for yet another boring patrol. There were also some units of the Dracocorps patroling around the city and even a few units from the Iron Legion rumbling back and forth.

The 412th Heavy Armored Corps, also known as the Iron Legion, was the new unit George was to be assigned to. A tank unit comprised exclusively of heavy tanks, this unit was only called into action if the fighting was to be particularly heavy. He had already recieved orders to assume command of the tank squadron in B Company and was even assigned a brand new HT-29 heavy tank fresh from the factory. He turned from the window and sighed.

_ (Thinking about work and this blasted war isn't helping. Perhaps I'm overthinking this but I can't help but feel like something's happened.)_

George couldn't explain why he was on edge but he managed to force the feeling down and picked up the violin he had been given for his thirteenth birthday and began playing the notes to his music sheet, wincing slightly as the notes seemed to fail meshing together.

Either the string section was too sharp and high or the bass section was too flat and low he couldn't tell. He'd been hiding it from both his parents as well as his friends and soldiers but the explosion which had blown him from the tank had indeed damaged his hearing. Thanks to his dragon abilities he could read lips and understand them if he focused but in a room with only soft music playing, he could just barely hear the music and tried to adjust the violin as best he could. To be clear he was not deaf, just hard of hearing. A military radio, a loud noise, or voice still reached him. He just had to read lips when people spoke in low or hushed tones and sometimes in normal conversation.

He didn't even hear footsteps nor the door open as his nurse, Angela, entered and paused at the door while he sawed away on the violin, eyes shut, straining to use his instincts to hear the variations. Naturally, Angela had found out he was suffering from extended hearing loss but at his request she had kept quiet. She stood there, listening to him play. When he reached the break in the music, she cleared her throat which caused George to jump is surprise.

"A-Angela?! When did you? How did you?...How much did you hear?"

Angela smiled. As a student at Ross Medical University in Graspiere, she had often times taken up music in her spare time between classes listening to masterpieces such as Fereton, Correlli, Mannlicher, Svalynia, and she had even heard (and performed) a few of George's early works which had grown in popularity only recently. She had to blink away tears as she approached him, smiling.

"It is a beautiful piece Your Highness. Is it finished?" George shook his head and stared at the papers before him. Though people had been calling him Your Highness for quite some time, it still felt odd and out of place.

"No. Far from it. I began this work six years ago and it still is not finished. One thing or another has always obscured my path." He angrily set the voilin down and rubbed his ears as of expecting them to magically 'pop' as they did when flying at high altitudes and voila his hearing return with a vengeance. Yet, it didn't

"Now with _this_ I doubt it will ever be finished. I can't seem to place it, I _know_ something is amiss but I just can't find out what it is. It is so...so frustrating!" George rubbed his forehead and ears again and shook his head.

Angela hated seeing him like this. She had taken a liking to George while he was in the hospital in Royalis. So much so, she had requested permission to be his nurse exclusively while he recovered. Every day he was getting stronger and stronger but she knew he feared what awaited him once she declared him fit for service. He would be placed before a medical board, they would discover his hearing problems, and that would be the end of his military career as well as her nursing career for hiding a patient's disability in her reports was an great offense. Still, she could at least help him as much as she could while she was still able.

Going to her room for a moment, she returned with the cello she took with her everywhere. When she was younger, before nursing, she had been a musician on a national stage. She doubted George had heard of her but that didn't stop her, she pulled the bow across the large string instrument and began playing the bass portion of the song, much to George's shock when he heard the cello.

Not to be unfazed, he paused for a moment to listen to her, then raised his violin and began to form the harmony with her. As the song took shape, George realized what it was he was missing. A partner. Someone who knew music and loved it as much as he. Their harmony was so complete, he didn't even realize they had played past the break in the song on instinct, his mind recording every single note they played.

Clapping got his attention suddenly and he turned to see his mother standing in the door, beaming like she did whenever she heard him play. Angela quickly rose and curtsied but Lysa waved it away with a smile.

"Congratulations on a wonderful piece, my son. I trust this means your long awaited masterpiece is finally ready?" George reviewed the notes in his head and eyed the paper but shook his head.

"Not yet. I'd estimate I still have a ways to go before it is even close to complete. This song, it is to create in song what the people express with words and emotions every single day. How can I put all that raw emotion into song in one day?" Lysa laughed at George's frustration and nodded.

"Your father often said the same thing when he was inventing. Now then, when Bertram returns, I want the two of you to come to the main chamber. There is a surprise waiting for you both." Before George could ask, his mother turned away and vanished down the hallway. He chuckled as he turned back around.

"For a dragon she can be pretty stealthy when she wants to be."

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_"Attention Flight IJ-01, this is Launces Aerial Command, spotted anything?"_ Bertram did a quick scan, then checked in.

"Negative Command. Nothing but birds, clouds, and a few civilian airliners. Even spotted an airship and a Dracocorps formation a while back."

_"Copy that, that's what we like to hear on our end. The time is 12:45 p.m. and all's well. IJ-01, proceed to heading 155 and return to base, you're done for the day."_

"IJ-01 copies, glad to have you along with us Terrance."

The radio operator for the Command, Lieutenant Terrance Hauser, was the youngest son of one of the five de Launces vassal families, and was the designated coordinator for Bertram's flight.

When Union City fell, James de Launces, now offically recognized as King of Syllia, took it upon himself to ensure that the Royal Air Force Home Guard would not be taxed or exhausted by constantly flying the entire border patrol. He did so by taking a map of Syllia, Northumbria, and the Blue Isles and drawing sectors within each part. Each sector was assigned a two letter/two number flight group that would rotate every eight hours. To further allow more pilots to be ready, each wing was then divided into four groups: Red Group, Blue Group, Gold Group, and Silver Group. Each group was identified by their ID numbers and also by the coloring of the wings, red for Red Group, blue for Blue Group, etc., etc.

Bertram's flight of planes, P-32A4s, were designated IJ-01 Silver Group. They had affectionatley been nicknamed 'the Silver-Winged Angels of Launces', by the local paper, a nickname that brought nothing but smiles from Bertram's mother and father. His group flew the old propellor planes more often because the new jet aircraft were in comparison tests with the Rotarian jets surrendered by Dieter and his men, who, in a complete spur of the moment by James and a surprise to Bertram, assigned Dieter and his men to Bertram as 'E' Squadron.

The running joke was they were 'E' for 'Experimental'.

The tests were only part of the reason. The other was that the fuel for the jets was still too expensive to produce in vast quantities and that there was simply not enough time to build enough jets to equip the entire RAF.

Still, the A4's were almost as fast as the jets thanks to the new engine, and they were a joy (and in Dieter's words, a pleasure) to fly. Voss had said flying one was like dancing with the girl of his dreams. The plane was fast, sleek, beautiful on the eyes, turned on a dime, and was armed to the teeth.

With a tailwind with them, the group made excellent time returning to base. Bertram gazed below and saw the Launces Train Station, busy as always. The city seemed bustling with activity. You'd almost never suspect that there was a war on.

No sooner had Bertram landed than a runner came up to him.

"Sir, you're needed at the castle. Something about having a surprise for you and your brother." Bertram looked towards the castle and back to the messenger.

"What kind of surprise?" The boy shook his head.

"No idea, sir. The Queen, er, your Mother said it was urgent." Bertram nodded and then looked to Ayatane and explained everything to him. To his surprise, Ayatane nodded.

"Go, I'll debrief the squadron." Bertram got to his runner, started off, and puzzled over why Ayatane was so calm all the way to the castle.

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George came down the stairs from his room to the foyer as instructed just as Bertram came in, flight uniform still dusty from the ride from the airfield. George smiled at his youngest brother and chuckled.

"What the bloody hell did you do? Take a detour through a desert? Seriously Bertram, you've enough dust on your jacket to fill a sandbox." Bertram chuckled at the good-natured ribbing from his older sibling and faced him.

"To be honest brother, I think you should do something with that violin of yours. The chief mechanic swore someone was trying to strangle Mr. Whiskers, the base mouser." George snorted and offered a quick reprisal.

"And how has your latest attempt at writing gone? I hope it's a sight better than that last piece you wrote...what was it again? Oh, yes, The Black Raven. Contridictory, irrelevant, and utterly obsene were just the _nicest_ of the reviews your critics gave it."

They were interupted by a cough from the door and turned to see what they both guessed was the surprise their Mother had mentioned.

There, standing in the doorway, was Josh, the middle of the three brothers, and beside him stood Anne, fighting hard to hold back the laughter at the brother's antics. Before George or Bertram could say anything, Josh spoke up.

"Do pardon my brothers, Anne. They are usually not this foul mouthed in the presense of a lady...then again, I take that back when it comes to my younger brother. He's like sandpaper, naturally abrasive." Bertram harrumphed and then as he looked closer, his eyes widened.

"Well, my my my...George, take a look at this, it looks like Josh managed to get someone to actually fall in love with that ugly mug of his." George looked closer and spotted the gold rings that both Josh and Anne wore and, without preamble, strode over to Josh and wrapped both his brother, and his future sister-in-law, in a hug that Bertram joined in on, laughing all the way.

When they finally broke free from each other, Bertram remembered something and looked to Josh.

"Umm, Josh? Forgive me if I'm wrong but, isn't Miss Anne here your XO? I thought regs frowned upon relationships between male and female officers serving aboard the same vessel?" Josh coughed but nodded.

"Normally they do but, well...when you've been through _three_ near-death experiences, spent an entire day of dodging shells that could take you apart, and, in Anne's case, watch her CO shift into dragon form and rip apart a battlcruiser with claws, fangs, and tail blade, well...we just kind of grew closer." Anne smiled and then wrapped her hand in his.

"Of course it's not like a walk on the beach and then me having to help him unknot his muscles didn't also have anything to do with it."

For the first time in Josh's memory, he saw both his brothers at a loss for words as he said the last occurance and was all but forced into regaling them with how he attacked the Rotarian battlecruiser.

"To be honest, I was completely out of control. I never felt more alive and yet, I was never more frightened in all my life."

"That's because you know, my son, that as a dragon you can destroy an entire city without remorse, without mercy. That is the burden we shapeshifters carry. Though we are not able to use elements, we are naturally gifted with raw physical strength and an inate desire to protect those dear to us, be they family or comrades. It is our experiences as humans that grant us humanity and allow us to understand how people feel when confronted by a creature from the depths of their worst nightmares."

The brothers turned to see their Mother and Father coming into the foyer. Then, they saw their Father smile and then motion for Bertram.

"Josh coming here wasn't the only surprise we had." He turned to the large dragon-sized door in the castle.

"You may come in now."

Bertram saw the doors open and his jaw dropped when Flaire came walking into the foyer, Her eyes still bandaged but nevertheless she walked with dignity and grace as befitting a dragoness of her beauty and upbringing. He walked forward and lay a hand on her snout and embraced her. Flaire chuckled for a moment before speaking.

"I told you I would be arriving soon. I've heard you've done quite a few things since we parted ways, my dear." Bertram turned to see George slack-jawed and Josh beaming from ear to ear.

"So, my little brother also found someone. I'm really glad for you Bertram." Bertram smiled and nodded to Josh and repeated the sentiment. Moments later, Angela arrived and came close to George. Gone were the hospital clothes and in it's place was a dress that amplified every curve of her body. George couldn't help but smile as he embraced her and then looked back to his brothers.

"What can I say? I fell in love with my nurse." Bertram and Josh laughed as Angela blushed slightly. Then, once Bertram got a look at the dress he looked at his brother in shock.

"George, isn't that the dress that Father bought Mother several years ago?" Before George could answer, Josh snapped his fingers and got a mischievious glint in his eye.

"You know something Bertram? I just figured something out. You're a Major, I'm a Commander, and George is still a Captain. That means we actually outrank him!" George coughed nervously and glanced at James to get his attention. Smiling broadly, James coughed to get their attention.

"There will be time for that later. Now then, let us go to the dining hall. Bertram, I've also invited your squadron to come dine with us because I have some questions for Captain Muntz. Plus, I believe Ayatane has had something he's been wanting to tell you for some time."

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The dinner was no grand affair yet nor was it dull. Bertram and his brothers, as well as James, found themselves enthralled by Dieter's stories about flying in the Callinar Incursion. Josh once again spoke of his actions during the Battle of White Sands. He was rewarded by Dieter going wide-eyed in shock before speaking.

"I'd count myself lucky then. Tyrann-class battlecruisers are second only to the Zerstörung-class battleships. Their crews are trained for most any situation. Although having a dragon land on the deck and start ripping the ship apart is new to me, I have little doubt that Mechanos may consider adding dragon tactics to the training regimen. If I were you, I would not attempt such risky actions in the future."

Gazing away from Josh and Dieter's conversation, Bertram noticed Ayatane and Sahne looking sheepish and the decided to ask what was going on. Sahne went scarlet in color and Ayatane took a sip of wine to steady himself.

"Well, Bertram...you have no doubt that Sahne and I have been seeing each other since before the Avalon Campaign, right?" Bertram nodded, refraining from saying that he'd nearly come several times to telling them to 'get a room'. Ayatane took a deep breath before continuing.

"Well...Sahne recently...I mean...what I'm trying to say is that..." When Ayatane's words failed him, Sahne spoke up, laying a comforting hand of Ayatane's shoulder.

"Major, I must ask your permission to leave the squadron...for the sake of the cubs I now carry inside me."

Bertram was in the middle of a sip of his drink when she said this and nearly choked himself in surprise. All around Ayatane, words of congratulations passed from members of the squadron and even James and Lysa passed their's along. Bertram finally managed to recover and then smiled to his best friend and nodded, then turned to Sahne.

"Of course you have my permission. I must say though we'll be hard pressed to find someone to replace you on short notice. Ayatane, have you told your parents yet?" Ayatane sheepishly shook his head.

"I...I want to wait until the war is over then I can marry Sahne and make my being a Father known without suffering repurcussions. It would cause my family great shame if they discovered I fathered children out of wedlock. Also, Sahne told me that, if all goes well, she should be having the cubs sometime in Reveran." Bertram nodded that he understood and then looked to Josh.

"So, Josh. I suppose it's too much to hope that you'll be staying here for a while?" Josh sighed and nodded.

"Yes, I'm to report to Eastport, the Navy's largest port, but once there I suppose I'll have to soak my head while waiting word from the Admiralty for what they want me to do." At that moment, James smiled and rose to look at his son.

"Josh, I believe I can safely tell you now what you will be doing. You've heard of Project Leviathan, correct?" Josh nodded, unsure of what his father was getting at.

James removed a small box from his coat pocket and handed it to Josh who opened it and nearly fell back with surprise. Inside the box were two gold stars, each emblazoned with an anchor and crown.

The rank of Captain.

James smiled and then handed Josh a folder from behind his chair.

"The Admiralty spent a long time looking at your record. From the time you were the XO on the _Prince Obël_, to your time as Commander of the _Interceptor, _and later the _Beowulf_, you have shown great strategic knowledge as well as foresight and courage. Therefore, the Admiralty has promoted you to the rank of Captain, and you are to report to Eastport to take command of your new ship, the _RNV Leviathan_, the first of the new Leviathan-class supercarriers. These carriers are large enough to allow for jet aircraft to takeoff and land and the deck is wide enough that, if the situation calls for it, we can even launch land-based, twin-engine bombers from the deck. Otherwise, we can send and recieve entire squadrons."

Josh looked absolutely thunderstruck as James smiled and then finished what he was saying.

"Furthermore. With the sudden death of Admiral Cheshire in that vehicle accident last week, the Fifth Fleet has no senior commanding officer. Most of the men and women of that fleet are fresh from the Academy or from Basic and most of the ships are all newly launched from dry dock. That's why I had your senior most officers and crew pulled from the _Beowulf_ and sent to Eastport to ready the _Leviathan_ and the fleet for your arrival. I have also ordered your old XO, Commander Walker, and his ship, _Aurora_, to Eastport as well. He is to be reassigned to command one of the four new battlecruisers in your fleet, _RNV Rampant Lion_. In short, the surviving vessels of your old Task Force, along with the newly raised and rebuilt _Prince Obël_ will be deploying soon to watch the waters between Peninsula City and Schildhaven."

James turned to his sons and then eyed the members of the 1st Wing of Launces and frowned.

"From what Major Muntz has told me about this so-called 'Emperor' Mechanos, he is not one to accept failure. We have crushed his plans in Avalon, we forced Callinar to quit the war, our ground forces have liberated the Tullinar capital and are now forcing Damoneni to retreat. The supercarrier that was sunk was confirmed to have been my apprentice, Albert Reed's, masterpiece, _FNV New Horizon_. I have little doubt that we are wearing on Rotiart's patience and they will soon do something drastic. We need to be ready, no matter what may come."

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(10 miles from Schildhaven Border)

Mechanos gazed upon the force arrayed before him with grim satisfaction. Though it meant that Rotiart would no longer be able to support Damoneni, in his opinion, they had served their purpose. He pulled his pocket watch from his jacket and gazed at the time.

8:22 P.M.

He turned to the commanders standing before him on board the _Chimera_ and then pointed to the map of Syllia, Northumbria, and Schildhaven with markers in various places representing the forces Mechanos had prepared.

"Gentlemen. We attack one hour before dawn's first light."

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To be continued...

Next Chapter: Blitzkrieg.


	32. Blitzkrieg

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 31: Blitzkrieg

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(0600, Launces)

The first thing Bertram was aware of was an alarm blaring across the base. Acting on pure instinct, he jumped from his bed and ran outside the barracks towards the HQ. On the way, he was intercepted by Ayatane, and Jake who, despite everything, managed to keep calm. Once inside the HQ, they were stopped by the base commander for the IJ sector defence. They walked to a map of Syllia and Northumbria with the eastern part of Tellanos and Schildhaven.

"Gentlemen, we've just been attacked. Roughly one hour ago, we recieved a distress signal from Headbashedin using the old Morse line up there. Elements of the Rotarian Army have simultaniously invaded through Three Points Pass and across the river at Union City. In Northumbria, the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Mountaineering Corps are holding firm along with elements of the 12th Army, 7th Armored Corps, as well as units from the Tellanian Federal Army that escaped before Tellanos was occupied. Down here, the enemy has advanced as far as Callen's Hill and so far the 12th Armored Corps, along with the 18th, 21st, and 34th Infantry Regiments are holding them there but what concerns me is further south." Bertram looked and saw a marker with a Rotarian emblem sitting square in the middle of Schildhaven.

"Sir, has Schildhaven...?" The Commander nodded.

"Schildhaven was invaded at the same time as we were but because they are neutral, they were not expecting an invasion, the enemy pushed all the way to the capital. The nation surrendered within the hour and now the Rotarian forces are pushing east towards Laevatain and south towards Peninsula City and Sanijo. The YZ squadrons from the Blue Isles are already in the air in case of a further attack south and all other air force units are to take off immediately. All IJ sector squadrons are to support the front line along Callen's Hill alongside elements of EF sector's squadrons. I'm afraid there aren't as many of them as I'd like to say because Callen's Hill was the primary military base there and when it was occupied, barely 25 percent of their forces managed to get airborne and escape to establish a defensive perimeter."

The Commander nodded to a young soldier who then moved three pins from the surrounding districts to the Callen's Hill area.

"We believe that the Northumbrian and Schildhaven forces are just diversions, and the force at Callen's Hill is the main one. The Rotarians are copying their campaign from the Federation's old playbook. We fell for that same ploy during the Federation War but this time we're not taking the bait and sending every single one of our veteran units to chase goose eggs. The enemy based their plans off of old tactics we learned lessons from and that is their undoing. Now then, get to your planes and get going. As per the situation, your planes are equipped with a multirole support armament. That means you not only have your machineguns and cannons but also small bombs and armor-piercing rockets. You will also have elements of the 33rd Gunship Flotilla and the 120th Bomber Group on standby should you require carpet bombing or see an infantry or tank unit getting its ass kicked out there."

Bertram and the others took that as a dismissal and turned to leave but then the commander placed a hand on Bertram's shoulder.

"Bertram. I need not tell you that the enemy is at our gates. I will not dare insult you by asking you to stay behind due to the fact that you are now royalty. All I ask is that you take care. If anything happens to a member of the royal family, the whole nation would suffer." Bertram noddec but otherwise said nothing as he went to the airfield where his ground crew was busy getting the wing's planes ready for takeoff.

As the engine on Bertram's plane started, the radio came to life.

_"Attention IJ-01, this is Launces Aerial Command. Redesignating your force as 'Wolf Squadron'. Link up with Warhound, Cerberus, and Jackal Squadrons as soon as you are airborne. Reports from the front indicate the enemy is relentless in their attack. The 12th AC has suffered heavy casualties and has been forced to withdraw to support positions. The infantry is all alone out there and the Iron Legion is too far out to reach them in time. Also be advised, Captain George de Launces has deployed against medical recommendation. He is in command of Group 11 and is headed for the frontlines."_

Bertram inwardly cursed and then waved to the ground crew and started the engine. The five-bladed propellor started with a low hum and wound to a high pitch whine as the engine geared up. He instinctively went over his gauges in a pre-flight check before the engagement.

_(Engine temperature, good. Oil pressure, good. Hydraulic pressure, good. Fuel, good. Ammunition, check.)_ Bertram looked over to the chief and nodded to him. The nod was returned and the canopy was shut and Bertram locked it. He never said this to anyone but every time he locked that canopy he felt like he was shutting the lid on his own coffin. Now that it was his homeland under threat, he felt even more uneasy.

The radio shook him from his thoughts and he pushed the engine forward and the P-32A4 rolled onto the runway and idled as the rest of the wing fell in behind him. He keyed the radio and steadied himself.

"Attention Flight, we have our orders. As per the direct orders of Operation Citidel, IJ-01 is redesignated as Wolf Squadron. Once we are in the air we are the rendevous with Warhound, Cerberus, and Jackel Squadrons and proceed to Callen's Hill to reinforce the forces there. We are also going to provide air support for the Iron Legion as they try to stabilize the lines. Today, we begin a battle that none of us wanted to happen. The Rotarian forces have invaded our homeland much as the Tellanians did in the times of our fathers and our father's fathers. Just as our fathers fought the last battle of the last Tellanian War at the fortress on Callen's Hill, so shall we now be the first line of defence at the fortress." At that moment, Dieter spoke up.

_"Major, do we have any intel as to what unit is attacking Callen's Hill?"_

"Not much. All I gathered from the markers is that a radio report said one of the soldiers had a '19' on his uniform. Ring any bells?" There was a moment and then.

_"Yeah, that rings a bell. The only unit I know of with a '19' on their uniforms is the 19th Heavy Combat Corps. These guys are hardcore, gung-ho, and tough as nails. The rumors about the Heavy Combat Corps or HCC is that to be accepted you must undergo a form of training similar to what your Royal Marines call 'Hell Week'. The only thing is that the training is ten times more extreme and that it even includes a full week of nothing but pain tolerance training and torture and interrogation resistance. They do everything from water torture, to breaking and setting bones, even outright beatings, shock torture, and those are the __**weakest **__forms of torture and training. Once you pass the training, you are issused a uniform, tattooed with an ID number, issued a grenadier belt, a machinegun or shotgun, and assigned to a platoon."_ Bertram grimaced and then keyed the mike.

"I suddenly feel concerned for the troops on the ground."

_"Indeed. But wait, it gets worse, the HCC is usually supported by a Heavy Armored Support Squad or HASS. The HCC and HASS go together like man and wife and the HASS supporting the 19th is often enough the 123rd. A unit that is one of the Emperor's Own." _Ayatane came on with that, curious.

_"Emperor's Own? What is that, some sort of title?"_

_"Yeah. If a unit achieves a certain kill ratio or perform 'heroic' deeds, they are given a medal and a patch that identifies them as the Emperor's Own. The title is similar to the Praetorian Imperial Fusileer's, or Syllia's King's Own."_ Bertram checked his armaments and nodded.

"Well, we've got rockets. We've got bombs. Let's get out there and see how well the 'Emperor's Own' handles being attacked from above."

_"I second that."_

"Alright, all units, full power! We're flying for Callen's Hill!"

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(Route 15, Near Callen's Hill, 10 miles from the Front)

George felt the rough suspension of the HT-29 jar him yet again as the formation trundled along the road. As Group Leader, his tank was first and he had seven tanks behind him and every one had a full squad of infantry from the 14th Rifle Corps riding on the back. He had his turret hatch open, as did his loader and they both had their machineguns loaded and armed. Behind him, the squad was singing the chorus from the old marching song 'Unto the Breech' and despite the situation, George found himself humming along to it.

'Unto the breech, aye lads! Unto the breech!

Ready your rifle and prepare for the fight!

For the leaders in charge have called us to the fight!

We march to the breech and prepare for the fight!

The rifles are loaded and the cannons are manned,

Prepare to show the foe the error of their ways!

Make ready for the fight, Yes!

Make ready for the fight!

Unto the breach we go and into the fight!'

"Alright men, enough with the singin'! Are you men of the Rifles' Corps or a bunch of jack tars with the Navy?! We're almost at the line so check your rifles and if any of you have to take a piss, do so now!" George chuckled at the Sergeant who said this and then took on a mockingly anger tone.

"Hold it. If you need to piss, do so, but if one drop lands on this tank I'm gonna castrate the man responsible!"

That got a thankful laugh from the troops. Then George turned around and suddenly saw a sight that made him freeze. Coming towards him was a light armor vehicle with a blue flag with two white stars on it. George turned, all joking gone.

"General vehicle incoming!"

The vehicle slowed down and the general inside was waving his officer's crop, obviously an old horse cavalryman, wildy.

"Captain! What the hell are you doing here?!"

"Orders from Launces Command, sir! We're with the 412 and the 14 RC. We're ready to fight the enemy." The general sighed and pointed behind him.

"Well, you're in luck. The damn front line shattered and you're about to be up to your ass in Rotarian tanks and infantry. I lost my comms officer so I've going back to Launces to request reinforcements."

Before George could say anything the General's aide started the vehicle and zoomed off. George raised his binoculars and gazed in the direction of Callen's Hill and swore.

"Sergeant! Get your men off the tank now!" He then keyed the mike for the tank radio.

"All tanks, get in formation! We have enemy armor incoming along with infantry support. They look like heavies so never mind the pea shooter, lock and load the big gun."

HT-29 tanks had two cannons, a large-bore 75mm cannon housed in the hull and a small caliber 37mm cannon in the turret. The only disadvantage was that the 75 could only fire straight ahead.

_(What I wouldn't give for some heavy artillery right about now. Well, wish in one hand, spit in the other, and see which one fills up faster as the old saying goes.)_

The other tanks in the group rolled forward, had their troops dismount ad formed a firing line alongside George's tank. He keyed his own radio.

"Ready on the 75. First target, enemy tank dead center, looks like it's got a dent in the turret where the coaxial gun is supposed to be. Range: seven-hundred yards. Load AP rounds!" From inside, he heard his gunner yell that he was ready.

"Fire!"

The tank shook as the 75mm fired. The recoil rocking the tank backwards. Through the binoculars, George could see the shell arc across the field and impact the enemy tank in the gap between the turret and the hull. The round detonated the magazine in the turret causing it to rip free from the hull, sail backwards, and impact the ground.

Six more 75mm cannons fired but their calculations were off. Three went wide and struck the ground to either side of their target, one dealt a glancing blow off the top of the turret that likely set the enemy crew's ears ringing, one impacted the ground in front of a group of infantry, killing some, wounding others, and scaring the crap out of the rest. The last round actually impacted the enemy turret and George watched in amazement as the barrel of the main gun buckled and fell, forcing the tank to stop. He then grabbed the mike again.

"All tanks, reload AP rounds in the main gun, also load HE rounds into the 37. Use the 37 on the ground in front of the enemy infantry and use the 75 on the tanks." He then changed the radio channel to the Syllian forces and began transmitting.

"Attention, any forces in the area, this is Captain George de Launces of the 412 Armored Corps. The front line has been breached and my unit and a group of the 14th Rifle Corps are all that's still holding along Route 15. Any available allied units please reinforce."

...

...

...

Silence.

The tank recoiled again as the 75 and the 37 fired. This time the 75 struck the right tread of a tank, gaining what was known as a 'mobility kill' as the tank tread broke apart and rattled to the ground. The 37 flew onward and George watched as the shell actually took an enemy tank commander's head clean off. By this time, the enemy infantry had gotten over their surprise of the sudden attack and were now charging towards them, guns blazing.

"Man the coaxials! Light 'em up!"

The riflemen fired their rifles, and the machineguns on the tanks strarted firing into the enemy as they charged forward. Those with sense enough to take cover did so by diving behind rocks, embankments along the road, or other obstructions wherever possible. George looked and saw an enemy with what looked like a bazooka behind some rocks and called it out.

"Rotate turret left five degrees, bazooka behind those rocks. Fire a shredder round from the 37!"

Shredder rounds were special cannon rounds that turned the cannon into a large shotgun. They were useful for attacking enemy infantry but were also effective for pinning down the enemy behind cover and preventing them for shooting at the tank or the infantry support. Needless to say when the 37mm cannon fired the shredder round point-blank, the rock, along with the bazooka and the soldier holding it, vanished.

George suddenly heard something in his headset and tapped it. The static was replaced by a sharp ringing noise that made him cringe. A second later, his loader tapped his shoulder, a look of concern on his face.

"Captain? Are you alright?" George nodded although he inwardly cursed himself. Still, he straightened his headset and looked back to the gunner.

"Did you catch that?" The gunner nodded.

"Yes, sir. That was E Company of the 412. We have a group coming as well as the 16th Mechanized Infantry. They're also bringing in a few Gemini tanks as well as three Marmotas." George whistled at that.

Gemini and Marmota tanks were usually deployed in defensive roles because they were so few in number but if they were being redeployed to the frontlines, the Iron Legion meant buisness. George tapped his headset again, sighing inwardly at the ringing still in his ears.

"My headset's on the fritz. Someone try and raise our air support on the radio. We need heavy support and we need it NOW!" The gunner nodded and then changed the tank radio to the frequency used by the airforce.

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_"Attention, any Syllian planes inbound on Route 15 to Callen's Hill, this is Group 11, requesting immediate air support. Multiple tanks and infantry inbound on the position. We just met with the General in charge of the defences and he said the Hill has fallen. I repeat, the Hill has fallen."_

Bertram cursed as he heard this but then had a worried thought and keyed the radio.

"Group 11, this is Wolf 1, my brother is commanding that group, is he alright?"

_"Affermative. He has a short in his radio though so he had me make the transmission. What's your ETA?"_

"ETA is five minutes. We've got the engines wide open. Do you have smoke rounds?"

_"Wait one...yeah. Yeah we got 'em for the 37."_

"Use smoke rounds to mark high priority targets. Tanks or groups of infantry giving you a hard time, threatening to break through, things like that."

_"Copy that. We'll hold them off as long as we-"_

The transmission was interrupted by a loud _BOOM_ and a blue streak of swear words that would have made a sailor blush. A moment later, the radio was broadcasting again.

_"Wolf 1, you best hurry. Bastards have moved their artillery into position and they just rang our bell. Judging from the sound they make when they arc we're dealing with either 105s or 110s."_

"Wolf Squadron copies. We are inbound. Cerberus, Warhound, fall in on the left and right, Jackel, take up the rear. Launces Command this is Wolf Squadron, Group 11 just radioed in saying the frontline has collapsed and has moved to Route 15. Requesting support from our standby units."

_"Command copies. As per our orders, we are also starting to evacuate civilians."_

"How's that going?"

_"Not as well as we'd like. I think the scars from the Federal occupation are still present. The whole city is up in arms, we already have seven different militia groups formed, and we're performing spot checks of the sewer systems to check for people wanting to start Resistance movements. Worse are the fools who think they need to burn the city to keep it out of enemy hands. The alarms at the fire departments are ringing nonstop. It's utter chaos down here."_

Bertram inwardly sighed. He'd heard the stories from his Father about the occupation. Each and every one a nightmare in and of itself. Given that the people who had been young men and women who survived those terrible days were now fathers and mothers themselves and that their children were now the same age that they were when the occupation happened, it wasn't surprising that there were so many diverse reactions.

"Well, keep the firebugs under control and with a little luck, we can stop the enemy here and start pushing them back."

_"We'll try. Okay, recieved confirmation. Gunships and heavy bombers are airborne and headed towards Group 11. Be advised also, receiving word from Schildhaven military forces that they have disobeyed orders from the government and engaged Rotarian forces along the border and have breached the southern border in several areas. They're trying to hold them off but they are sorely lacking armor, weapons, and aircraft. So far they are fighting a withdrawing battle."_

Bertram gazed around and then spotted a flash to his left and saw a line of Syllian tanks firing rapidly at the line of Rotarian tanks closing on their positions.

"Attention, all planes, I have visual on the enemy. Safeties off, all planes are cleared to engage all hostiles. Let's give them a warm welcome."

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The first sign that the reinforcements had arrived was when George looked up and saw a barrage of rockets, bombs, and cannon rounds fall from the clouds and crater several enemy tanks and kill multiple Rotarian soldiers. He still couldn't hear properly out of his headset but he did hear the main radio come on with something that gave him hope that they actually _could_ hold the enemy back.

_"Attention Group 11. This is the 32nd Fast Attack Company. We've also got the 43rd Mobile Artillery Company with us and they are itching for a fight."_ George keyed his radio.

"Attention 43rd Artillery, we have enemies in sectors 3A, 3B, 3C, and 4B. Medium and Light tanks supporting heavy infantry. We don't have many people near that side so a little fire from above would be helpful." The acknowledgement wasn't long in coming.

_"Group 11, this is the 43rd. Rounds are away, sit back and watch the show."_

A loud whistling noise was all the warning George had before the rounds sailed overhead and impacted the spots he had identified to the artilllery corps. Seconds later, he heard engines approaching and he turned to see several Leopold varients coming to assist.

The Leopold was the Syllian military's answer to the Praetorian 'All Terrain Troop Carrier' and Rotiart's Hammerraeg Halftrack Transport. It was a complete track vehicle that was modified for various purposes. The 1L and 1R varients were troop transport and support vehicles. The AT2 was fitted with a cannon and designated a 'tank-killer'. Then there was the ART3, a Leopold fitted with a 105mm howitzer and redesignated 'self-propelled artillery'. Lastly was the M4, the Medevac.

George didn't see any Medevacs with the group, all he saw were the 1Ls and 1Rs and several AT2s. The 32nd had come and they didn't intend to hold back. The Rotarians had started strong but were quickly getting bogged down. George was confident they would be able to hold until an emergency flash came over the radio that, once again, he couldn't hear. He gazed around and saw looks of disbelief among his crew and heard angry shouts from the men around his tank.

"Did anyone catch that? The gunner nodded.

"Command has issued a general retreat order." George looked absolutely thunderstruck and turned red in the face.

"Retreat, hell! We just got here!" The gunner sighed and nodded.

"No choice sir. Word is the Schildhaven forces failed to contain the Rotarians. They are in full retreat and the Rotarians are sweeping upwards to Launces in an attempt to cut us off and surround us. It seems that the enemy wants to knock out Launces before they move anywhere else." George swore and then turned the radio on the speak to both the airforce above and the other tanks with him.

"Attention, all forces. We have been issued a General retreat order. Launces is in danger of being attacked and we are in danger of being surrounded and annihilated. All units, retreat."

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To Be Continued...


	33. Launces

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 32: Launces

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Lieutenant Derek Kiln reveled in the feeling of the moment. Here he was, high in the sky, planes on the left, planes on the right, bombers behind, tanks and infantry below, and Launces, the proverbial 'crown jewel' of Syllia not twenty miles in the distance. Protected by what appeared to be a thin line of tanks, infantry, artillery, and a meager air force flying in a defencive pattern above the city. Yes, he revelled in the feeling and the confidence of having complete military and air superiority.

Then again, what else could one expect from a fighter ace of Rotiart's infamous 666th 'Butcher' Wing whose own callsign was 'Reaver'.

Now without his wingleader, Colonel Alfred Marks or the XO, Major Clarence Reese, to boss him around, he had permission to cut loose and go wild and had his squadron of four ready to do the same. As he neared, the red light on the radio flashed and he flipped it to overhear the orders.

_"Attention. All Rotarian forces. This is Major General Kantz. We will soon begin the attack on Launces. With the Schildhaven forces dealt with, the _Chimera_ is now on Syllian soil and is closing the noose. The eyes of the Emperor himself are upon you all. Now then, any and all targets outside the Old City are fair game. Homes, barns, farms, warehouses, anything outside the inner wall can be destroyed. However, Emperor Mechanos has given explicit instructions not to shell, bomb, or burn ANYTHING within the inner city or the castle area. Failure to do so will constitute insubordination and disobeying a direct order. Furthermore, intel has confirmed that two of the Royal family, Captain George de Launces, and Major Bertram de Launces are among those defending the city. Orders regarding them are capture at any cost."_

There was a sound of rustling paper which caused Reaver to cringe in embarrassment.

_(Of course it would be a prepared speech. I suppose the orders are likewise prepared...)_

_"Right, next section. Bomber, your targets are the Industrial, Commercial, and Residential sectors of the city. Targets of High Importance are Brigadier General Laurance Prescott's Headquarters in the Industrial district, the Launces Home Guard Airfield and Dracocorps Field which is behind the Castle district, Fortifications 19A, 19B, and 19C behind the outer and center walls. 12th Squadron and 3rd Wing, protect and escort the bombers. 666th Squadron, take the 4th Wing, 223rd Squadron, and 501st Squadron and raise some Hell."_

Without hesitation, Reaver pushed the throttle to full and felt the jet engine behind him come to life.

"Reaver to all planes, you are clear to engage. If it has Syllian markings, destroy it."

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Bertram couldn't help but dread the sight coming towards them. Row upon row of Rotarian tanks, Halftracks, and Infantry on the ground and row upon row of fighters, bombers, and what looked to be transport planes. He thanked God that his father had the foresight to call the flight back early and then get the J33-A1s fueled, armed, and ready for deployment in an extended battle. Still, the sight of the enemy made him nervous.

Radar confirmed that the Rotarians outnumbered them 7 to 1.

As he watched, he saw several planes break formation and start off towards the city at high speed. At the same time, the radio flashed and a broadcast came through.

_"Attention, all Syllian forces. This is Brigadier General Laurance Prescott, by order of our King, I've been tasked with defending Launces from enemy attack. I will not lie to you, we are the few outnumbered by far. We face the enemy at seven to one odds, however, we are Syllian. We are not fighting for an ally today, we are fighting for our own nation, our city, our people!"_

Faintly, Bertram heard people cheering in the streets and soldiers cheering through their radios. General Prescott continued.

_"Launces has come under attack before and always we have held our ground and made the enemy pay dearly for their hell or high water, never stop, never submit, never retreat, never surrender! The enemy is fielding not only fighters and bombers but also transports meaning they may be deploying paratroopers. Launces is the gate to the east, merely two hundred miles east lies Royalis and the King and Queen. No foe may enter this land of ours. This land is protected by Syllian hands, Syllian blood, Syllian honor and Syllian steel. This is our trial by fire. And all things forged in fore become stronger. So, I ask you all, men and women of Launces, citizens and soldiers of Syllia, I ask you to fight to the last man, to the last bullet, to the last tank, to the last plane. We stop the Rotarian enemy here!"_

More cheering came over the radio and Bertram looked back at the incoming foes.

"Attention, all flights. The enemy is as eager to fight as we are. They have sent a force comprised of high-speed fighter-interceptors and jets. The 1st Wing will take care of the jets, all others, engage the enemy fighters and if possible, make your way to the bombers and transports. I cannot condone having hostile paratroopers landing on Syllian soil."

Acknowledgement came through almost immediately and several wings closed in with his to engage the incoming enemy.

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George had heard the speech on the radio and silently swore. One of the Iron Legion's officers had checked his radio and discovered that there was nothing wrong with it and, after gazing at his medical report, the officer had concluded that his hearing was to blame and had removed him from command of the tank. George could only now watch from atop the outer wall as the enemy closed in and the battle lines closed with each other. He gazed around at the soldiers on the wall and noted their apprehension, their fear, but also their courage.

Every man and women here, from the snipers, riflemen, and machinegunners to the stationary battery crews and stationary AA guns to the crews of the Fahrpanzers, narrow-gauge locomotives outfitted with a tender-mounted high-velocity cannon or anti-aircraft cannon for a (somewhat) mobile defense.

The Fahrpanzers had been created after the Southlands Conflict when the walls around the city were widened to withstand the weight of narrow-gauge locomotives originally meant to carry ammunition to the stationary batteries. A few years ago someone had the bright idea to mount armor to the tender including a dome-shaped turret with either a 75mm close range cannon or a twin-mount 35mm AA cannons. The idea was so novel yet interesting that the man recieved a commission to created eighteen more of them.

The outer wall had 16 stationary 155mm cannons, 12 fahrpanzers, 27 heavy machineguns of various calibers, and had 10 sniper posts which each held three teams of a sniper, a spotter, and a defender, a soldier assigned to protect the sniper and spotter if the position was compromised. The posts were stone bulwarks that rose above the wall and held the sniper post on the balcony on the third post, an anti-air gun post on the roof, a machinegun battery on the second floor, and a tunnel to allow the fahrpanzers to roll along the length of the wall unimpeded.

Because he had also been assigned to an artillery group before being reassigned to the armored corps, George was overseeing Battery 12 on the wall. The crew of this gun knew their duty. He was only assigned to it because their gunnery commander had been caught drunk on duty. He watched as they prepared the rounds and readied their cannon, awaiting orders from the Tower.

The Tower was, quite literally, the brains of the whole wall defense. Though called Fort George, named for George's deceased Uncle, the Tower was a keep that had been modernized to withstand bombings and heavy artillery. Nothing short of a naval-caliber gun could dent the fortification. Within its steel-reinforced walls was a lookout post, a radar rangefinder similar to the ones found on naval warships, and a switchboard with phone lines leading to every single artillery crew, fahrpanzer signal station, and sniper post along with a line running to the next wall, a line running directly to the castle, and a radio room with a dedicated channel to military command in Royalis.

Looking up, George could see the radar mast rotating slowly as the operators inside the Tower confirmed the range of the enemy so that the cannons could support the tanks and infantry on the ground. He watched as it slowed turning, faced the enemy, and stopped. Moments later, the phone rang and he answered it without delay.

"This is Battery Twelve. What's our solution?"

_"Firing solution is Grid 8, Sector 12. Range to enemy lines is three point eight miles and closing. Recommended elevation is zero-two-three degrees. Recommend Crater-Maker rounds. Fire at will."_

Crater-Maker rounds were modified artillery rounds that were less of a shell and more of a warhead. The addition of high explosives and a double payload allowed this shell to pierce the ground and create a deep crater to either obstruct the enemy's advance or deal serious damage to armor.

"Battery copies. Grid 8, Sector 12, 3.8 miles, twenty-three degrees." George turned and repeated the coordinates to his crew who loaded the cannon and moved the elevation to the designated range and then turned to him. He looked to the crews to the left and right of his and nodded.

"Commence barrage, fire at will."

With a tug of the lanyard, the 155mm 'Crater-Maker' shell fired. The report of the gun was deafening compared to that of a tank's main gun. Take that echoing boom that seemed to shake the teeth out of your skull and multiply that times sixteen and George wondered that he didn't finish going deaf.

_(No wonder our artillery instructors at the academy always shouted. They were probably half deaf themselves.)_

He saw the crew load another round and fire and he picked the binoculars up to look at the line and was rewarded with a series of explosions as the shells landed near, in front, or right on the encroaching tanks. The shell from George's cannon actually landed on target, coming down directly on top of an enemy heavy tank, an SpZ-6, crushing the front which then flipped the sixty ton behemoth 'ass over teakettle' as the old saying went. It literally flipped upside down and came crashing down in the turret which then brilliantly exploded and sent shrapnel from the tracks and wheels into the halftracks and infantry nearest to it.

There were a few other such hits but the rest landed amongst the infantry or among the halftracks following them. The next volley landed just before the ranks, creating craters and forcing the enemy to slow their advance, giving the Syllian tanks time to take aim and start firing their own guns.

A loud, high pitched scream got his attention, forcing him to tear his gaze from the battle before him and look to the battle high in the skies above.

There were two battles above them. The battle between the Syllian RAF and the Rotarian RAAF, and then the fight at a lower altitude.

The battle between the Rotarian Griffon Corps, and the Syllian Dracocorps.

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Zakwell had been perched on the tower of the Castle like an oversized gargoyle for several moments, watching the enemy forces close in on Launces. His sharp vision able to discern individual soldiers among the vast enemy force. His force of eighty dragons either clinging to the castle or spread throughout the city. He was the Commander of the entire Dracocorps for the Western Region of Syllia and had gathered several dragons not just from the Dracocorps but also several volunteers from the nearby dragon settlement of Volcanus.

The moment the sirens sounded and the artillery on the outer wall started firing, Zakwell roared out to his force and together they winged their way towards the battle. As they crossed the outer wall, a series of squawks got his attention and he looked up and snarled with savage glee.

"Griffons! Forward above and below! Their diving for the wall artillery!"

The sight of griffons stirred the blood of the Syllian dragons who remembered the stories of their ancestors about griffons.

Sharp beaks, talons, high pitched screeches, families butchered, eggs broken, young devoured. Fighting both man and dragon and showing mercy to neither.

The dragons let their rage show and they roared as they dove or climbed to meet their foes. There was only one difference. Unlike the golden griffons of the stories, these were pitch black. Zakwell remembered the reports from Avalon and realized what they were.

_(Dread griffons...)_

He used the energy he'd been building up to unleash a lightning fury that shot out in all directions and illuminated the sky. He satisfyingly saw that he had hit several griffons with that attack but then saw that he had also attracted the attention of an entire squadron of griffons as well as several enemy tanks that started firing upwards towards him. Shells exploded around him as he weaved through the formation and scowled angrily. He climbed upwards to engage another group of griffons angling towards a fahrpanzer on the wall.

This time he had help from a fire dragon and an ice dragon and together they plowed through the wing and headed towards a group of dragons that looked like they were having trouble. As Zakwell got closer, he recognized Aaros and realized that the wing was Aaros' 'hatchling wing'.

A hatchling wing was a wing comprised of one senior Dracocorps dragon and six dragons who just completed the dragon equivalent of basic training. Among Aaros' wing Zakwell recognized Aaros' own son, Tempest, Shimmer's daughter, Glimmer, he saw a few other familiar faces, and then he saw another flash of light and gaped as Caldor, a young light dragon, darted down and started attacking griffons one after another, eyes bright with rage. Zakwell sighed inwardly as the young light dragon darted about.

_(Well, if he inherited __**one**__ thing from that sire of his, I'm glad that he's using his temper for better reasons than __**him**__. Then again...that kid sure had it rough...)_

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Caldor again charged forward and started slashing at a griffon with his claws and didn't stop until it was mincemeat. He attacked his enemy with determination and fervor. He'd made up his mind when he had heard that Launces was under threat. He would either fight and fight and fight until everyone, _everyone_, in the Dracocorps, acknowledged that he was _not_ his father's son. That he was _**nothing**_ like his sire. His sire, his father...Silverus.

A loose cannon...

A firebrand...

Disobediant...

Uncivilized...

Wild...

Dishonorable...

...

...

...

A murderer...

A traitor...

Silverus had been considered one of the best Wing Commanders in the Dracocorps. He was strong, polite, all the things that light dragons were known for being...

Too bad it had been all a front...

Silverus' public reputation had been completely shattered with the duel against the fire dragon, Ignitus, almost twenty years ago. Not only had he, in all his arrogance, broken the one law that should _**never**_ be broken. He had convinced a dragon, his Lieutenant, to attack and attempt to kill not only Ignitus but also Magothera, eldest daughter of James de Launces, then Count of Launces, now King of Syllia. Once the dual was over and he was arrested, word began to spread about some dragons witnessing outbursts but never paying attention to them because they were either sure he was having an off day...

...or they were absolutely terrified of him.

Rayxor had been more than Silverus' lieutenant. Being considered a 'noble', Rayxor was his aide, his assistant, second, bodyguard and...for lack of a better word...his shadow and right hand...er claw. Investigations had discovered that three dragons had vanished under mysterious circumstances wherever Silverus and Rayxor had been. Searches in several non-discript locations revealed the hurriedly concealed remains of the missing dragons.

All had burn marks on their bones consistant with lightning, light, or both. That little bit of information had been the final nail in the coffin of both dragons.

Caldor had been six when word that Rayxor and Silverus had been executed for their crimes in 1921. His mother was unceremoniously dismissed from the Dracocorps, her honor and reputation ruined beyond repair. Several times he had heard other dragons and humans muttering about him, calling him the Traitor's Child, among other names. He had learned to be tough to survive as his grandparents would have nothing to do with him, nor would his aunts and uncles.

He was his father's child...the blood of a traitor, a monster, a murderer, flowed through his veins...they considered his every bit a bad as his father.

He had made up his mind...he would fight until his body gave out and he fell from the skies...

...or he was killed by the enemy.

Either way, he would be dead. Those who cursed him and hated him with every fiber of their beings would have their satisfaction. He would fade from memory...the sins of his father dying with him.

He fought recklessly, wildly, without abandon. He didn't give a damn if he lived or died. He was the most disliked dragon in his wing and in the whole, entire Dracocorps. He decided that if he was to die, he would kill as many of the enemy as possible. He would never be a hero. He would never amount to _anything_. Most males his age were busy thinking about finding a mate, having kids, living an honorable life.

What female would want to lay next to a dragon who's father was a traitor and a murderer?

As he fought, he was aware of a pair of eyes watching him and glanced to see Zakwell following his motions. Sparing a moment to gaze down at the ground battle, he saw the tanks nearing the wall and now firing rapidly at the batteries. Up above, the fighters were engaging and were trying their hardest to stop the bombers and transports from reaching Launces. Then, he saw a sight that made his blood run cold.

A fair distance away was a female dragon who he knew by face but not name and she was being attacked not by griffons but by an aircraft that though shooting down a dragon more exciting than shooting down a machine. Roaring defiance, he shot forward towards the incoming aircraft, a Rotarian jet, and fired a beam of light straight at it.

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The roaring of the jet had drowned out the noise the dragons and griffons made, each turning to look on as the jet bore down on a female dragon who had been injured while disengaging an enemy griffon. Suddenly, a beam of light shot forward and the dragons looked on with disbelief as Caldor launched himself at the jet. The light beam shot through the nose, destroying the rotary cannon that was revving up to end the life of the dragoness.

Zakwell watched as Caldor rammed the jet mid-air and sunk his claws into the wooden body and used his tail blade to slice at the engine time and again. His weight forced the plane into a steep dive and the pilot frantically tried to bail out but was unable because the second he did, the jaws of Caldor would be waiting.

Zakwell dove, hoping to catch up with the falling jet but another roar drowned out the den of battle and another jet screeched by and fired at both the jet and Caldor. Zakwell watched as rounds struck the engine of the jet, setting aflame and also saw rounds pierce Caldor's wings, forcing him to break his grip on the jet and fall.

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Caldor felt burning pain as the rounds shredded the membrane of his wings. He felt his grip on the jet weaken and suddenly release as the jet fell away and exploded. He fell, unable to catch enough air to stabilize his flight and sighed.

_(So...death it is. I have no regrets. I've done my best, all things considered.)_

Just as he resigned himself, he felt a set of claws grab him fiercely and heard a groaning above. Gazing up, he was shocked to see the dragoness he had saved sinking her claws into his side and straining to carry him from where he was going to crash and instread released him over the Blue River.

He struck the cold water of the river with enough force to create a wave that swamped a small boat, skipped across the surface, and slammed into the shoals and was knocked unconscious.

On the wall, and above it, the battle continued.

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George watched as the crew unloaded the shells from the lift that led to the armory and rubbed his ears irritatedly while the other cannons kept firing. The enemy tanks were now so close that they were practically firing either on the zero axis, meaning the barrel was completely level, or they were calculating the negative scale meaning lowering the barrel as far as they could to try a point blank hit.

At some point, the crater shells, the anti-armor shells, and the high explosive shells had run out and they were being reloaded with heavy caliber solid shot, shredder rounds, and time delayed air burst rounds. George gazed left and right and sighed at what was left of the batteries on either side of his.

Battery 11 had been destroyed by a lucky tank shell skimming the top of the wall and slamming through the traverse gears and shattering the recoil springs. Battery 13, true to the stigma of the 'unlucky 13', was subjected to a full rocket barrage, six tank shells, two dive bomb attacks, and a griffon deficating on it after a near miss from a Fahrpanzer shot right between its hind legs.

George's crew readied to fire when suddenly he heard a whistling noise and felt someone tackle him from behind as an artillery shell came streaking across the sky and impacting the barrel of the gun, splitting it in half. George pushed whoever had tackled him off and got to his feet to see that the cannon was done for. He then turned to the person who was struggling to his feet and was about to say something when another shell arced through the air and impacted the Tower, blowing the top section off and showering George with dust and debris. He turned to see a pale officer looking stunned towards the south.

Almost dreading the turn, he did so and saw a machine that looked like it could have been built by his Father, the only thing was that this machine's weapons were pointing at the Launces defences and that the machine had Rotarian colors flying from it.

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Bertram fired another burst at the transport just as the door opened up and he could see the glimpse of a Rotarian paratrooper's uniform in the doorway. The cannon rounds ripped through the plane's starboard engine causing it to splutter and then seize before anti-air guns on the ground ripped through the cockpit and finished it off. As it fell away, he gazed down and saw a Rotarian jet harrassing the dragons below. As he dove at it, a dragon intercepted the plane, forced it to crash but not before another jet, this one marked as a wingleader, opened fire, wounding the dragon and destroying the plane.

He flipped the stick into a wing-over and dove at the enemy jet. Even from a distance he could see that the jet he was chasing wasn't Marks but then again, he didn't expect to see that coward here.

"Still, he's in the same force as Marks...could be a subordinate..." He switched his radio to the channel frequency.

"Dieter, this is Bertram, where are you?"

_"Sandwiched between two bombers and trying not to get my ass shot off. Why, you spotted something?"_

"Affermative. I have a wingleader from the 666th in my sights. Any insight?"

_"What's his ensign?"_ He narrowed his vision and used his abilities to see an emblem on the fuselage.

"Looks to be a...skull with a crossed axe and scythe." There was silence before...

_"I'm breaking off and coming to you. That's Lieutenant Derek Kiln, callsign Reaver. Sadist, educated at the Grey Wells University, graduated flight school fifth in his class, ironically ahead of Marks. He thrives in high speed engagements and loves getting thrills from performing high G maneuvers. He's a slippery sonuvabitch and it's best to engage him with backup."_

"Dieter, can't wait for you, he's diving on what looks to be civilians evacuating the outer city."

Dieter cursed but Bertram pushed the throttle to full and angled his jet on an intercept course. He waited until he closed in with the jet until he felt turbulance from the engine and fired a burst. A split second later, Reaver executed a textbook roll and dodged the burst and flipped around to try and get on Bertram's tail. On his radio, he heard laughing as he rolled to dodge a burst.

_"Honestly Major de Launces, did you think I wouldn't notice you closing on me? That would be the sort of mistake a rookie would make. A mistake that __**you**__ have just made."_

Just as Bertram rolled to dodge, cannon fire echoed and he saw Dieter, Ayatane, and Jake diving onto Reaver, guns blazing. He easily evaded the attack and then pushed the throttle to full and took off towards the city proper. Bertram swore.

"He's headed into the city! Dieter, Ayatane, Jake, go high and tail him. I'll follow his tail!"

Not waiting for an answer, Bertram dove for the deck and pushed the throttle wide open to try and catch up with Reaver as he blew over the second wall and opened fire on the buildings in the outer residential districts. As shattered glass and masonry fell everywhere, Bertram flipped his wings vertical and flew in between two under construction high rises in pursuit. Spotting Reaver again, he saw that he was flying towards the castle, fully intent on strafing the train station nearby that was currently evacuating civilians. The gust from the passing jets rang the bells in the Launces Cathedral towers and actually shattered the stained glass windows as well. Bertram cursed and keyed the radio.

"Dammit! He's going too fast, I can't get a shot on him and he's headed for the train station!" Then a cackling laugh came on the radio.

_"Say goodgye to the train station, Major. Oh, look at that, a good looking female cheetah from Avalon is down there...she'll make a nice stain on the platform."_ Bertram paled as he said that but then heard a yell in the radio and saw Ayatane's plane diving from the clouds, guns blazing. Reaper pulled up at the last moment and evaded the attack again before doubling back and opening fire.

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George watched as the huge machine creapt slowly forward. Sirens throughout the city were going off. Fires were everywhere on the wall and in the fields n front. Cannon shells from the tanks were firing at the reinforced gate trying to break through. He looked about to see if he could do anything but settled for helping the wounded get loaded aboard the Leopold M4s that served as medevacs for the Royal Army. As he shut the doors to the last one, he saw someone come up to him. It was the wall commander and he was worried.

"Captain de Launces, I must ask you to leave this to us and get yourself evacuated immediately." George looked at the commander like he was crazy and shook his head.

"Like hell I am. This is my post Commander and here is where I'm staying. This fight isn't over yet." The Commander grabbed him by his coat, something no officer, or anyone for that matter, had done before.

"It is for you. As of now, I am relieving you of your post, you are no longer an officer in the Royal Army, you are the Crown Prince of Syllia, the heir to the throne, and I'll be damned if I let you remain here to get killed. Now I know where I'm staying. I'll face my fate here. You however, have to leave, conscious or not." He then turned to look over his shoulder.

"Sergeant! Front and center!" The Sergeant came and saluted before seeing George, recognizing him, and hastily saluting him again.

"Sergeant, get a vehicle, I don't care what kind it is, and get His Highness out of here, now!" The Sergeant sputtered for a moment but then saluted and turned away and ran off for the motorpool at the wall garrison. George turned back to the Commander and began serious.

"Commander. Does this mean what I think it means?" The Commander nodded solumnly.

"Yes. The appearance of that superweapon has effectively put an end to our evacuations. We on the wall can't evac but some people may still be at the station. Get to the station, get on a train, and head for Royalis. Launces won't last much longer."

At that moment, there was an explosion in the distance and almost instantly the sirens stopped and the lights in the wall fort flickered as the backup generators came on. The Commander swore.

"Bastards got the hydroelectric plants on the lake and river. The whole city is running on the few remaining crystal energy and coal power plants in the Industrial sector and who knows how long they'll last. You have to get out of the city, sir. We'll hold here and keep the bastards occupied for as long as possible."

George nodded and then saw the Sergeant returning with a M4 medevac.

"Your Highness! This is the last vehicle and she's only got room for one more!" George nodded and climbed aboard the vehicle with the wounded. As the vehicle pulled away, he saw the garrison at attention and salute him as he closed the doors. Once the doors were shut, he took a seat next to a wounded soldier and wept silently.

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Bertram watched as Ayatane engaged Reaver. He was like a man possessed. He rolled, dodged, flipped, and rolled again. Things were getting dicey now as the two jets were flying around the castle and in between the towers. Bertram was trying to catch up but for some reason his engines wouldn't speed up. The throttle was at 100% power yet the engines were only putting out 65%. All he could do was watch as the two fought.

Then, suddenly, Ayatane's right engine sputtered and flamed out. Bertram paled.

"Ayatane! Dive! Dive! Get the hell out of there! Dieter, Jake, get up there and help him!" He watched as they climbed and Bertram gazed around, realizing he'd lost sight of Reaver. As he gazed around the castle, the lights in the city began to flicker and some sections actually went completely dark. Then, he saw a shadow moving at high speed.

"Ayatane! He's low by the castle! Get out of there!"

The warning came too late.

Reaver came up beneath Ayatane and opened fire, raking the underbelly of the jet with cannonfire and riddling the fuselage and wings as well. At that moment, the left engine caught fire and Ayatane's plane began to drop.

"Ayatane! Bail out! Bail out!" He barely heard the reply.

_"Can't do it Bertram...C-Caught a round in my back...I...I can't move."_

"No! Don't you dare say that! Now you pull that release lever, and get your ass out of that plane and that's an order! Do you here me Captain Ayatane! Bail out, _**NOW!**_"

_"S-Sorry Bertram...that's o-one order I cannot follow...D-Do me a favor...tell Sahne that...I love her very much...and tell her that...I'm sorry..."_

Bertram watched as Ayatane's plane began to spin, all the while he kept hearing from Dieter and Jake yelling for Ayatane to bail out. At the last moment, the jet rolled violently and pitched hard towards the outer-most tower of the castle.

"Ayatane! Get out! Get out! Get out NOW!"

There was no reply.

Ayatane's jet plowed nose first into the tower and exploded into a massive ball of flame. Bertram's mind quickly seemed to think that's where the armory for the castle guards was and he was right as moments later the lower section of the tower bulged outward and began to lean and then fall.

Right towards the cathedral and a building Bertram knew was one of his father's workshops. The tower took out the south half of the cathedral and completely flattened the workshop which exploded in several explosions.

Bertram felt tears on his face and gazed about angrily for Reaver's jet but he had vanished. The radio was crackling, forcing him to adjust the frequency. The words he heard nearly tore his heart out.

_"This is the Launces City Guard at the first wall. We have been breached! Enemy superweapon has breached the wall! We are unable to retreat! Any forces remaining in the city, Army, Dragoons, Dracocorps, Air Force, anyone, evacuate the city. Launces has fallen! Repeat: Launces has fallen!"_

The radio suddenly went silent and Bertram looked around to see dragons from the Dracocorps landing in the crowded central avenue and taking people, young, old, women and children onto their backs and then taking off again. The East gates were blown open and a convoy of Leopold ATCs and medevacs escorted by tanks, trucks, and various other armed vehicles blew through them at high speed.

The six passenger locomotives at the train station as well as the armored combat train and the freight train started off slowly but picked up speed as they left the city. Bertram watched the trains leave and then keyed the mike.

"This...This is Major Bertram de Launces of the Launces First Air Wing, requesting vectors for my flight to retreat to the nearest allied air base. Anyone copy?"

_"This is Stonefort Air Force Base. Launces First Air Wing, come to course zero-five-seven and evacuate the airspace. Before they went dark, Launces Aerial Command detected several more Rotarian jets inbound. Looks like the 666th isn't the only show in town anymore."_

"Copy that. Alright, all aircraft, come to course zero-five-seven and evacuate the area. We're heading for the Dragon settlement of Stonefort."

As Bertram wheeled around, he gazed back at the fallen tower and spied the burning wreckage of Ayatane's jet and felt more tears as he saluted.

_(Don't worry old friend, I'll get the bastard responsible for this. Mark my words.)_

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The M4 that George was riding in was somewhere between the inner gate and the city proper when the evac order came through. He looked forward to the driver, the Sergeant, and frowned.

"Can't this thing go any faster?!" The Sergeant shook his head.

"I've already got it at full speed! There is a supercharger but if I activate it here, chances are we'll-"

He never finished the sentence as suddenly artillery shells began raining down all over them. The Sergeant swore and looked back.

"Everybody hang on!"

An artillery shell came down right beside the M4. It didn't pierce the armor but the force of the blast lifted the M4 up and flipped it onto it's side. George went flying inside it and landed hard against the hull, knocking himself out.

Throughout the city, the sirens that continued to wail despite the loss of the hydroelectric plants, fell silent one by one. Street lamps lost power because the workers at the power plant evacuated. One by one, lights went out all over the city, houses, businesses, fell into darkness. The outer residential went out first, then the inner residential, the inner commercial districts, the airfield, the train station, all went dark. The lights at the Industrial sector flickered and faded. The power at the castle persisted longest before finally, the back ups gave out, and the castle was plunged into darkness.

The only lights in the city were the fires started either by bombs and rockets that fell onto the city, wreckage from downed aircraft and destroyed tanks, or fires set by desperate citizens who decided to burn their homes and businesses rather than see them fall to the enemy.

The fires were the only lights in a city covered in darkness.

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Mechanos watched from the bridge of the _Chimera_ as part of the inner city burned. With most of the bombers and transports destroyed, damage to the city was relatively light. Unfortunately, only one of the major objectives he had issued had been met. Then he watched as a plane crashed into a castle tower which fell into part of the city where his intel had said one of James de Launces' last workshops was located, effectively destroying it as well as destroying a good portion of the city's cathedral. Mechanos sighed and turned to his officers.

"Launces is ours but it is a hollow victory. We did not capture either George or Bertram de Launces, the workshop where the blueprints I was interested in was destroyed, and too few of the forces that were meant to occupy the city made it into the city. I shall be returning to Shadowfell, once the man responsible for downing that plane which damaged the castle, the cathedral, and destroyed the workshop is found, I want him arrested and brought before me. General Heins, you are to assume command of the occupation forces of Launces. I will leave a few engineer corps with you to restore power to the city so that you won't be in the dark. There will likely be some form of resistance from the remaining citizens. Deal with them harshly."

In the distance, atop the castle, soldiers from Rotiart lowered the flags of Syllia and Launces, tossed them from the top, and raised a new flag in their places. It had dark grey and black bordering, a white middle, two Rotarian emblems on either side of a Syllian cross which was covered by the grey and black diamond of the Rotarian Army.

Launces had been occupied.

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Whew. Okay, so this chapter is done everyone! So, Launces has been occupied, Bertram escaped, Ayatane has been killed, and George is unconsious somewhere in an overturned medevac in an occupied city.

What awaits him? Find out in the bext chapter.

Next Chapter: Lost Hope


	34. Lost Hope

Okay everyone, we're entering into George's first chapter. I hope you guys like the direction I go with the chapter, if so, please review and let me know how I can spice up the future chapters a bit.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 33: Lost Hope

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The first thing he was aware of was a heavy weight on his back. He tried to move but every joint in his body ached. His arms, legs, back, neck, all of it. He also had a headache that vaguely reminded him of the hangover he got when he'd first been commissioned. He managed to work through the pain and pull himself forward. He was in a sort of daze as if awake yet at the same time asleep. He crawled forward a few more inches but then collapsed exhausted and let sleep reclaim him.

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(A few hours later...)

_(Wake up!)_

He cringed at the sharp, snarling words in his head. They somehow made his head pound all the worse and made the ringing in his ears worse.

_(WAKE UP!)_

The words came again. This time more severe but also with an alarmed tone and...a hint of worry?

_(George de Launces! You __**WILL**__ wake up this moment or, by every descendant of mine ever born or hatched, I will force you awake!)_

George heard the voice but this time his mind started working to place it...

He vaguely recalled a blue crystal in his youth, his father showing it to him, Josh, and Bertram and teaching them how to use it.

_'This crystal is a spirit crystal. It allows you to contact the spirit world and speak with your ancestors. All you have to do, is hold the crystal, focus on it, and voila, you're there.'_

George began to review his lineage and realized that only two of his ancestors had the power to use spirit gems.

"G-Grandfather Demeter...?" The voice snorted.

_(Hmph. Close, but not quite. You're one generation off. Demeter, or rather, Retemed, was never taught how to use spirit gems...at least not until I spoke with him and taught him.)_

"M-Malefor?" This time he heard a slight chuckle.

_(Good. You remember me now. Your sister, Thera, felt something was amiss and implored me to seek your spirit out. Once I assertained that you were simply unconscious and not deceased, I endeavored to wake you. You've been sleeping for a good twelve hours now.)_

George rubbed his head, then removed it when he felt something wet and gazed at his hand to see it covered in blood.

"I'm...injured?...How?" Malefor sighed and then started allowing more recent memories to flood into his mind.

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_George watched as the huge machine creapt slowly forward. Sirens throughout the city were going off. Fires were everywhere on the wall and in the fields n front. Cannon shells from the tanks were firing at the reinforced gate trying to break through. He looked about to see if he could do anything but settled for helping the wounded get loaded aboard the Leopold M4s that served as medevacs for the Royal Army. As he shut the doors to the last one, he saw someone come up to him. It was the wall commander and he was worried._

_ "Captain de Launces, I must ask you to leave this to us and get yourself evacuated immediately." George looked at the commander like he was crazy and shook his head._

_ "Like hell I am. This is my post Commander and here is where I'm staying. This fight isn't over yet." The Commander grabbed him by his coat, something no officer, or anyone for that matter, had done before._

_ "It is for you. As of now, I am relieving you of your post, you are no longer an officer in the Royal Army, you are the Crown Prince of Syllia, the heir to the throne, and I'll be damned if I let you remain here to get killed. Now I know where I'm staying. I'll face my fate here. You however, have to leave, conscious or not." He then turned to look over his shoulder._

_ "Sergeant! Front and center!" The Sergeant came and saluted before seeing George, recognizing him, and hastily saluting him again._

_ "Sergeant, get a vehicle, I don't care what kind it is, and get His Highness out of here, now!" The Sergeant sputtered for a moment but then saluted and turned away and ran off for the motorpool at the wall garrison. George turned back to the Commander and began serious._

_ "Commander. Does this mean what I think it means?" The Commander nodded solumnly._

_ "Yes. The appearance of that superweapon has effectively put an end to our evacuations. We on the wall can't evac but some people may still be at the station. Get to the station, get on a train, and head for Royalis. Launces won't last much longer."_

_ At that moment, there was an explosion in the distance and almost instantly the sirens stopped and the lights in the wall fort flickered as the backup generators came on. The Commander swore._

_ "Bastards got the hydroelectric plants on the lake and river. The whole city is running on the few remaining crystal energy and coal power plants in the Industrial sector and who knows how long they'll last. You have to get out of the city, sir. We'll hold here and keep the bastards occupied for as long as possible."_

_ George nodded and then saw the Sergeant returning with a M4 medevac._

_ "Your Highness! This is the last vehicle and she's only got room for one more!" George nodded and climbed aboard the vehicle with the wounded. As the vehicle pulled away, he saw the garrison at attention and salute him as he closed the doors. Once the doors were shut, he took a seat next to a wounded soldier and wept silently._

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The memories returning sent a shock through George's body as if he'd been shot. Hos eyes wide in alarm.

"That's right! The...The wall...I was pulled off the wall and evacuated...but...then what...?" Malefor then released the next memories.

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_The M4 that George was riding in was somewhere between the inner gate and the city proper when the evac order came through. He looked forward to the driver, the Sergeant, and frowned._

_ "Can't this thing go any faster?!" The Sergeant shook his head._

_ "I've already got it at full speed! There is a supercharger but if I activate it here, chances are we'll-"_

_ He never finished the sentence as suddenly artillery shells began raining down all over them. The Sergeant swore and looked back._

_ "Everybody hang on!"_

_ An artillery shell came down right beside the M4. It didn't pierce the armor but the force of the blast lifted the M4 up and flipped it onto it's side. George went flying inside it and landed hard against the hull, knocking himself out._

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George came up with a shock and nearly banged his head on the stretcher that had landed crossways in the hull of the M4. He looked around and gasped with dismay. Shrapnel had pierced the hull of the M4, riddling it with holes, and killing almost everyone inside the ATC. He gazed back to see what the weight was he had felt earlier and saw that it was the Sergeant, the man who had evac'd him from the wall. He had laid over him to shield him fro the worst of it. Malefor read his mind and George got the impression he was shaking his head.

_(You're right about the human saving you but it wasn't that artillery shell. Rotarian soldiers heard the screams of the injured inside this vehicle and used it for target practice with armor piercing rifle shells. The Sergeamt sacrificed himself to give you a fighting chance. The others...they weren't so lucky. The man there on that stretcher above you, he bled out and died about ten minutes before I found you.)_

"Could you have saved him?" Malefor sighed.

_(I am a dragon, not a god. A purple dragon, if they are nearby, may use their mana to heal the wounded, if they know the right spells but alas, I have no physical form, and my mana is being used only on the crystal to locate and speak to you. So no, I couldn't have saved him. I couldn't have saved any of them. You, on the other claw, I still have a chance to save.)_

"What do you mean...Gah!" George suddenly felt a sharp pain in his side and saw that blood had seeped through his uniform.

_(Despite the man's efforts, a round still grazed you. It didn't hit anything vital but, you are in danger of bleeding out or infection if you don't get that looked at.)_

"How? The city...the city's occupied, if I go anywhere in a Syllian uniform, the Rotarians will either kill me or take me prisoner."

_(There is...another alternative...)_

"What?" Malefor chuckled wryly.

_(My mana may be used to locate you, but I still have enough to...manipulate more...simple minds. Nearby is someone I think will help you. She has a hound with her that is keeping a lookout for Rotarian soldiers while she searches the wreckage of vehicles and bodies.)_

"A looter?"

_(No. A rebel. She's part of a group that didn't evacuate but is not surrendering. I believe you humans call them...'partisans'.)_

"Resistance...I had a feeling there would be some. Okay, how are you going to get her attention to look in here?"

_(Like this...)_

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Amber Locke had been the typical farmer's daughter. She knew how to raise animals, she knew how to grow crops, she knew how to work farm equipment, she also knew how to hunt and how to shoot. Most of the neighbors said she was a better shot than her father and should have applied to become a sharpshooter in the Royal Army. Yet, with her Mother sick and her Father having trouble with some bad harvests, she decided to put everything on hold in order to help them out.

The Rotarian Army had taken all that away.

The farm was gone, the livestock destroyed, the crops burned, and both her parents were dead, killed by a squad of soldiers who wanted to loot the house to see what valuables were there. All she had left was her dog, Rex. Rex was the dog she had hand raised from a puppy and she was sure he had some timberwolf in him but he was as docile as a newborn babe; unless someone threatened Amber or provoked him.

Amber gazed around the battlefield, stepping over Syllian and Rotarian bodies alike. She has a rucksack slung over her back and whenever she came across something interesting, she pick it up and place it in the rucksack.

To Amber, interesting things meant small arms, ammunition, medical supplies, maybe a few pieces of non descript merchandise from the dead Rotarian soldiers. Most of the merchants in town had been forced to close up show but still had contacts outside the city willing to trade for certain items.

For example, a first aid kit, if not needed, could be bartered for six C-Ration Kits. Basically, Contraband items were the new currency for an occupied city. Liquor, ammunition, weapons, medicine, were some of the more lucrative items although personal effects from looted bodies were worth something to someone. One of the more promising pieces she had found today was a solid gold pocketwatch she had found in a Rotarian Colonel's overcoat.

Still, she had standards, she was still a loyal Syllian and would not dare loot a Syllian soldier's body. However, she did always check to see if they had a letter home on their bodies and that the Royal Post would send them off to the addresses on the letters.

As she stooped over to pick up a bandoleer that still held several full magazines, she saw Rex start pawing the ground and whining, something he only did when he sensed something.

"Rex? What is it boy?"

In answer, Rex came towards an overturned M4 Medevac and started scratching at the hatch. Amber saw that the vehicle was riddled with holes and doubted anyone could still be alive in there. Still, it WAS a medevac, there could still be some intact supplies in there. Maybe sterile gause? Sterilizing alcohol? Painkillers? Antibiotics? Some surgical tools?

Amber grabbed the prybar from her hip and jammed it into the mechanism that lowered and raised the hatch and pulled on it as hard as she could. The door creaked and groaned for a moment until finally the mechanism gave way and the hatch swung open. Gazing inside, she saw several dead bodies but didn't see any intact medical kits and decided to turn away.

"Help me..."

Amber froze in her steps and turned, noticing for the first time she noticed movement under a stretcher. Quickly, she crawled over a body to the stretcher and heaved it and the corpse in it over to reveal a soldier, roughly about her age, maybe two years older, lying against the side of the vehicle. His had a gash on his head, and the side of his uniform was red from blood and he had a few cuts on his legs and arms but was still alive. Cautiously, she knelt down to him.

"Are you alright? Who are you?"

"I'm fine, except for this wound in my side. The Sergeant jumped in front of me when the Rotarians used the M4 for target practice. As for who I am...I'm..."

The soldier didn't say anymore as he slumped to his side. His chest was still moving which meant he was still alive. She turned to Rex.

"Rex, go back to the Mill and get help, I can't carry him back all the way by myself."

Rex gave a short bark, his way of telling her he understood, and took off like a shot through the tall grass.

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George opened his eyes and realized he was in the spirit realm. Before him stood Malefor as well as his Grandfather and uncles who had been killed during the Federation War when Launces was last occupied. Malefor was worried.

"You almost gave yourself away George." George shook his head irritatedly.

"Why? If she knew I was George de Launces, she would have..." He was stopped when his namesake, his uncle raised his hand to stop him.

"Most people believe that those of noble bearing tend to stay away from the fight. True, she may have given you the benefit of the doubt but then what? Your name would be on everyone's lips by the next day and the Rotarians would raze the city looking for you. Alive you give people hope, dead, you're a moral breaker. For now, use your middle name and a false last name. You'll keep out of trouble and, should anyone recognize you, they'll have the good sense to keep their mouths shut and not say anything until the time is right."

George nodded and then felt the dream state fade.

"W-What's happening?!" Malefor gazed into thin air and nodded.

"You're being taken to a medical station for the Resistance. Fear not, I'll tell Thera I didn't find anything but that I'm sure you're not dead. You're in occupied territory now George, you in the Resistance now."

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George came to the instant he was set down but kept his eyes shut. His side still pained him fiercely yet it was dull now. Around him his senses picked up several scents that were familiar yet, odd as they were all mixed together.

He smelled machine oil, used for lubrication of machinery parts. Flour, grain, wheat, fresh water, cooked fish. He also smelled gun oil, gunpowder, brass, lead, polished oak, steel. He also smelled antiseptic, alcohol, and several other scents including the scent that humans gave off when they were anxious, worried, or stressed out.

He groaned for a moment and slowly opened his eyes to find several men and women crowded around him, including a somewhat elderly man in a white doctor's coat. The man saw his eyes open and smiled softly.

"From what young Amber tells us, you've had a trying day lad. Now, before I try to treat that wound, I have to know who you are and where you were assigned. It was obvious you were being evac'd when the M4 was hit but your ID tags are missing and your uniform is in a sorry state. Now, to belay your fears, we are all Syllians here. However, survival demands that we be cautious of newcomers, especially those found in a shot up ATC filled with dead people yet one seemingly miraculous survivor." The doctor motioned to a large man holding a submachinegun who came forward.

"Your name Captain." George remembered what his uncle and Malefor told him so he thought fast.

"Nicholas...Nicholas Moore." The man nodded but otherwise gave no tells or clues.

"Where were you stationed?"

"I was on the outer wall. Battery Twelve. We...we were knocked out when that superweapon lobbed a shell that broke our barrel in half. Then it destroyed the Tower and my CO told us to evacuate. I was assigned to assist with the wounded and was on the last M4 to leave the wall before it was breached." The man nodded and then turned to the doctor.

"There were a lot new faces on the wall before the attack. I was on Battery Six and saw Twelve get hit. I think most of the new faces were just bunched up from whatever units survived Callen's Hill. So, Captain Moore, tell me what your original unit was."

"I was with the 412, the Iron Legion. I was part of the group that went to assist Callen's Hill but one of my crew forget to completely fuel the tank and we ran out of fuel on the way back after the retreat order was issued. Sheesh...I'd never seen Captain de Launces look so pissed before. Not just for the rookie mistake my crewman made but for the hurried retreat order."

The man nodded again. The group around seemingly relaxed.

"One more thing. I noticed a patch on your sleeve that seems off. If you were with the Iron Legion, why do you have a patch that says your with the 231st Artillery Corps.?"

"I was originally part of the 231st, but when I recieved my commission, I requested transfer to the Armored Corps. Don't get me wrong I liked being with the Earth Shakers but I wanted to be closer to the front. I don't like having people fight to keep me safe while I fight the enemy."

This time the man not just nodded, he outright smiled and turne dto the group.

"He's one of us. Only a Syllian Artilleryman could have known what the nickname of the 231st was. Doc, patch him up, he's had a rough day and would probably like something to drink and eat after you sew him up. Tell me Cap, when did you last eat?" George thought for a moment and then realized it had been a while.

"Not since breakfast yesterday. I don't need much, just a piece of bread and some jam and I'll be good." The man laughed.

"Now don't you go insulting our hospitality, Cap'n. We may be occupied but by no means are we hurting for supplies. We've got bread, milk, eggs, ham, jam, heck, Matilda, my wife over there, she can make you a breakfast that'll knock your socks off. She used to work at the castle serving the de Launces before war. Once our little Michael was born however, Lady Lysa insisted she stay home and Lord James actually reassigned me as manager for one of his facilities here in Launces, even promoted me so that I could supply my wife and son."

At that moment, the Doc came around and looked at George's face.

" Yes, yes Miles, you're proud to call yourself a Father and proud of the de Launces. Now then, that's a nasty cut there below your eye Cap'n. I can sew it up but I'll need to bandage it for a while so that it can heal properly. I'll give you a full physical once I get you sewed up and then you can have something to eat." George nodded.

"Thank you all. Actually, I would appreciate it if you didn't call me Captain anymore." The big man, Miles, turned aghast.

"Why's that sir?"

"As you said, Launces is occupied. Ranks and titles would just give the enemy targets. Maybe even give them ideas as to where to look for people's families and try to hold them hostage. So, from this moment, don't call me Captain anymore. Call me Nicholas or Nick, alright?" Miles stood there for a moment then nodded.

"Alright Nick, you have my word, no callin' you Captain until we drive these jackals out of our city. Now then, if you'll excuse me, I have to tally up what Amber was able to bring in today."

George saw Miles leave and then turned to the doctor who was preparing an anesthetic as well as a suture.

"Now I'm going to use this painkiller to knock you out. The larger wounds will take time to sew up but you'll need some bandaging for the multitude of small cuts you have."

George winced as the doctor inserted the needle but soon fell into unconciousness as the painkiller took effect.

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(Royalis)

_Your Majesties,_

_It is with great sadness that I report that your son, Captain George Nicholas de Launces, has been listed as Killed In Action. His ID Tags were found near an artillery damaged Leopold M4 near the Launces South Gate._

_Despite the efforts of Rotarian Medics to save his life, Captain de Launces succumbed to his wounds in the triage unit._

_Despite the fact that our nations are on opposite sides in this conflict, please accept my sincerest apologies on this matter and rest assured, the men who took that hastily aimed shot will be punished to the fullest extent of the law._

_I shall endeavor to have the body returned to you as soon as possible._

_Sincerely,_

_Otto Mechanos, Emperor or the Rotarian Empire._

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James read the letter aloud to the Royal Assembly. All around people scowled angrily and dragons hissed. Lysa had recieved the letter and had locked herself in their chambers and demanded to be left alone. She had even hissed at James when he tried to enter, something she had never done before.

He crumpled the letter up and looked about the room, his face a mask of profound rage.

"This man...he claims the death of my eldest son was an 'accident'. He even has the gall to include photos of the M4 in question, along with his ID tags, and that the body will be returned to us as soon as possible." James took a deep breath and sighed.

"General Williams, we have the reports from the survivors of the Wall who said that the Rotarian artillery was not accidental or poorly aimed. It was accurate, it was deliberate, it was devastating." General Williams nodded sadly.

"Yes, Your Majesty. The reports all say the same thing."

"So then, how can my son's death be accidental?" One of the Councilors rose to speak.

"Your Majesty, we've examined the ID tags closely and while they do indeed state His Highness' name, there are some...abnormalities to them." James looked to him.

"What do you mean 'abnormalities'?"

"Well sir, for instance, the lettering. ID tags are made by machine stamping in which a machine stamps the letters into the metal. This is actually _very_ acurate hand stamping. Someone took great care to tak a stamp marked with a letter and a hammer to stamp each and every letter and number into the tag. Second, the font size of the tags is wrong. The standard font is 9, these are size 12." James was unconvinced but motioned for the man to continue.

"Lastly sir, the metal...ID tags are made of an aluminum/tin mixture. The tags they gave us...they are painted to look like aluminum but are in fact iron. Plus, we had a chemist look at the tags and test them and he discovered that the tags have traces of magnesium, phosphorus, and several other trace minerals. These tags were not made with metal found in Syllia but this chemical composition is most commonly found in the Alakron Mountains in western Tellanos." James eyed the man with interest.

"What does that mean exactly?"

"The tags were not made in Syllia but in Tellanos. Plus, the metal was new, records indicate that His Highness never had to requisition new ID tags beyond those issued to him when he was commissioned. Sir, I think, in my opinion, that these tags are fake and that this is an attempt to throw yourself and Her Majesty into a tailspin. Chances are that the body coming in is also just some poor lad killed in action. This points to one thing only. He doesn't know where Captain de Launces is. Sir, there is a good chance that he is still alive."

James stayed still as a statue for a moment before giving a small smile.

"If that is true, Councilor Bennett, then you have saved my Queen and I many worrysome nights. Gentlemen, so far we have been fighting half-heartedly. I know it seems impossible but it is the truth. We have thought that the only nations who could match us are our allies. Now we face a foe who is capable of building weapons that it would take an entire force to destroy. On top of that, we know next to nothing about their production capabilities, their tactics, their troop strengths, and that's just the short list." General Williams nodded.

"We have stabilized the front line Your Majesty, thanks to the fortifications along Marginot-Siegfried Lines although, to be honest, I think the enemy may be waiting for something." James nodded, concern obvious.

"The thing is. What are they waiting for?"

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(Launces)

George awoke later that day, he gazed at the bandages around his legs, arms, torso and his right eye. Fair to say he looked like a mummy from one of those old Praetorian silent horror films. As he rose, he felt stitches pull at his side and sighed.

"Wonder how many stitches he used on me..."

"Oh, no more than fifteen." George jumped and looked around and saw the doctor sitting nearby chuckling to himself.

"Amber came by to see if you were awake. She's...not easy to intrigue but...there's something about you that seems...magnetic. The people of this group, we are but one small cell. There are many throughout the city who claim to be 'the Resistance' yet, they have not decided to unify. Tell me, Monsieur Moore. What do _you_ believe should be the ultimate goal of the Resistance?" George sighed and then looked to the doctor.

"Personally? I believe the Resistance's ultimate goal should be the liberation of Launces. In the meantime, we need to do as much as we can to disrupt and destroy the enemy's plans. Uh...convoy interceptions, espionage, sabotage, liberation of POWs within the internment camps in the city, transmission of enemy plans and troop movements to forces outside the occupied zone. If nessessary, we go to more...drastic actions. Demolition of fortifications, theft of ammunition, supplies, medical equipment, assassination of high ranking officers, disruption of communications." The doctor nodded.

"Sounds like you have some things figured out. More than most of the young ones around here." George nodded then thought of something.

"By the way Doctor, I never got your name." The doctor chuckled wryly and nodded.

"Of course, forgive me. I am Doctor Francois Mezzanie, MD and DDS." George went wide-eyed and sat straight up.

"You're THE Doctor Mezzanie? The infamous Doctor M who led the old Launces Resistance alongside Edward Royce and Gunther Krieg?" The doctor chuckled and then looked to either side and smiled.

"And you are not Nicholas Moore. Well, you may have the name Nicholas, but I know who you truly are, Your Highness. Rest assured, I know why you go under a fake name and I shall protect your secret. But...there will be a day when the Resistance will need to know your name. What will you do then?" George sighed and looked about.

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it Doc. Tell me, do they know who you are?" Francois chuckled and nodded.

"They know the name but not what it once was. For several months during the Federation occupation, I helped keep hope alive. When I wasn't sewing up victims of Tellanian 'Retribution Squads', I was silencing traitors, outrunning pursuit teams, and doing whatever the hell possible to disrupt the Federation's plans for the city. My calling card was a big red M painted on whatever wreckage was left after I was done making mayhem. In a way, I am fortunate to have lived this long. In my youth I was reckless and often took risks, now I am old an wizened but my mind is still as sharp as it was back then. You want to make the Resistance strong? I can help you do that." George nodded.

"I never turn away help offered. So, what do you suggest we do first?" Francois scratched his beard thoughtfully before nodding to himself.

"There were three leaders of the old Resistance yet we all listened and valued each other's opinions. We do not need three leaders now but rather one unified body. We must first recruit people. Not openly, for that would surely invite spies and traitors and collaborators into our ranks to betray us later. No. We recruit from those who, like Amber, have lost everything and have nothing left to lose. You try to grind people beneath your heel long enough, they _will_ start fighting back. Once we have the people, we will then need weapons, armor, ammunition, intelligence. All the things that give us an edge." George nodded.

"So...recruitment. Where do we start?" Francois sighed and shrugged but then Amber came in.

"I have an idea for our first recruit. Word just came over the radio, the Rotarians found a wounded dragon in the outer canal. They are transporting him into the city for internment." George rose, eyes wide.

"A dragon from the Dracocorps? Do they know his name? What element he is?" Amber shook her head.

"All we know is that none of the other groups are going to rescue him. They say his name is Caldor." George paled and sat back down.

"Caldor...the son of Silverus, the traitor." Amber went wide-eyed.

"Silverus? The dragon who plotted with his lieutenant to assassinate Lady Thera and was executed some years back?" George nodded.

"Yep. Silverus and Rayxor. The first dragons to ever die by beheading. The first beheading since the 1700s. The first dragons to ever be willingly surrendered to joint human-dragon law. After Silverus' execution, Caldor's mother was discharged, he grew up knowing nothing but scorn, hate, and disdain. Many times Father thought about his position but was always talked down by the senior members of the Dracocorps. They felt that, if Caldor was shown compassion, he may turn into another Silverus. Instead, he became reckless, bitter, and cold. It...It may not be my best idea but...Caldor _IS_ a light dragon, and as the old saying goes, 'When the times are darkest, all that is needed is a little light'." Francois smiled broadly and clapped his hands.

"Well said Nick. Well said."

"So then, what's our course of action?" George, Francois, and Amber turned to see Miles and several other men standing there smiling.

George stood. Unsure of what to say when Miles lifted his hand and chuckled.

"No need to worry yourself, Your Highness. Aye, my wife recognized you when she brought you the food tray over there and, like Francois said, your secret is safe with us. Besides, it wouldn't do us much good to blast it about that the leader of our cell is His Highness the Crown Prince when we don't have any clout now, would it?" George chuckled about that and nodded. Miles then leaned against his rifle and became serious.

"Now then, sir. What is our course of action?" George became serious and turned to the group.

"Doctor, I want you on standby for this. We're going to be bringing in a wounded dragon. I don't give a damn who his parents are, he's a _Syllian_ dragon and a member of the Dracocorps. He's one of us, and we never abandon our own." The men nodded, each smiling with pride. George turned to Amber.

"Do we have a route they'll take?" Amber unfolded a map of Launces and nodded.

"Yes, they intend to take this road here throught the outer city and go through Gate NE3. Right now they're trying to secure him at the canal here." She pointed to place on the outer canal called Cutter's Mill.

"We are here." She pointed to Pierson's Mill located on Route 12C near the central canal.

"So, we have to intercept the convoy somewhere between Cutter's Mill and Gate NE3. Once we're within visual range of the city, it'll be too late. We have to do it while we're still in the country. The terrain here is hilly and the grass is tall. Miles, how many sharpshooters do we have?"

"Including Amber? Myself, and two others." George nodded.

"Alright, Amber. You and Miles will take positions on this hill here, the other two will take positions on the opposite hill. We'll set up a crossfire killzone. Once they realize they're under a coordinated attack, the other group will rush in and eliminate the remaining guards and transport Caldor to the we return, we dump the truck into a deep part of the canal somewhere downriver and get him inside. Once he's here, it'll be your job to keep him alive Doctor." Francois nodded.

"I will do my best." George rolled up the map and looked to the men and women going with him.

"Alright everyone, this is our first mission as the Resistance, let's move out!"

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Alright! The first sortie is on the way! Can George and the Resistance save Caldor? Stand by for the next chapter!

Next chapter: Caldor.


	35. Caldor

Okay everyone, here's the next chapter. I hope you all enjoy it.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 34: Caldor

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Caldor didn't know how long he was out. He only knew that his wings ached terribly and for some reason he couldn't move his legs. He remembered falling after coming under attack, being saved by the very dragoness he was protecting, and then, likely after realizing who she had rescued, being dropped like a bad habit, skipping across the canal, and crashing head first into the embankment.

He stirred for a moment and heard people yelling around him. He thought it annoying and decided to crack an eyelid and growl a little bit to let them know he was in no mood for their japes and jeers today. When his eyelid cracked open, just enough for the people around him to see a part of his flame orange iris, he gave an audible gasp.

Surrounding him were soldiers of the Rotarian Army...

...and they were chaining him to a truck!

Caldor snarled angrily, wide awake now, and pulled at his limbs and tail and tried to flex his wings and neck to try and get them in range of his light element. He craned his neck around so far he could hear his vertabrae creaking, opened his mouth, and fired a solid blue-white beam of light at the nearest soldier who dodged out of the way at the last possible moment.

The light beam continued on and struck a parked vehicle nearby, causing it to explode. The soldier he had missed came up, the right side of his uniform was scorched and his hair frazzled. Caldor got enough of a glimpse of his uniform to see that he'd fired on an officer.

A young and untested officer who likely had never been on the recieving end of a dragon's element attack.

"For the love of all that's holy someone put a muzzle on the damn beast before he tries to roast us again or blows a hole through the truck!"

Caldor saw a group of soldiers preparing to lasso his mouth shut and renewed his struggles. Suddenly, he heard the distinctive sound of a weapon being cocked and turned an eye towrads the sound and saw a big man with sergeant's stripes holding a large caliber pistol to his head.

"Cease your struggles dragon. You are now a prisoner of war of the Rotarian Empire. Normally our orders do not encompass dragons but then again, you are the first dragon we've ever taken alive. If you do not cease your struggles, however, I _will_ end you. Most weapons cannot pierce dragonscales but this pistol was specially developed in case such an event took place. Will you cease?"

Caldor saw that the situation was hopeless and sighed.

"Very well. But no muzzle." The sergeant nodded and waved the men with the ropes away.

"We saw how you fought. You know dragon, you're lucky it was us that found you. If it was the 16th or the Griffon Corps, you'd have been executed while you were still unconscious." Caldor chuckled weakly.

"Not that it matters. I doubt I shall survive much longer anyway." The sergeant looked to him curiously.

"Why's that? Won't your compatriots see to your wounds?" Caldor shook his head.

"Not mine. I am the son of a traitor. Silverus the Bloody. Likely the moment you turn your back after locking me up, _**they'll **_execute me." The sergeant looked unconvinced.

"I doubt they would. Look, normally I'm not supposed to give a prisoner hope but, it is unlikely that you'll be harmed." At that moment the officer came forward, a smug look on his face.

"Doubtful. Unlike you Sergeant Brenner, I have heard the stories of Silverus the Bloody and about his...offspring. We would likely be saving ourselves a lot of trouble and a lot of headaches by executing him now. Likely, we'd make more friends of the citizens and even persuade some of the holdouts to surrender as well, maybe even defect."

Caldor decided that he liked the human, Sergeant Brenner, better than his CO.

Moments later, Caldor felt the last chain snap in place and sighed. The CO called something to his men and then motioned for Sergeant Brenner to ride in the back with Caldor.

_(So, this is what my father was subjected to. Gyved, muzzled, placed under heavy armed guard, and at the end of all of it, the guillotine...)_

In his thoughts, he felt a hand on his side and gazed to see Sergeant Brenner by his side, an unreadable smile on his face. Brenner caught the glance and nodded.

"Believe it or not, you're the first dragon I've ever seen up close. Compared to the dread griffons I grew up fearing, you're not as much of a monster as the higher ups claim your kind to be." Caldor harrumphed and turned his head away.

"Trust me. I may not be anything like my father, but there are monsters like him who revel in evil deeds and others who act monsterous towards anything to do with those who were wicked. In their minds, I was guilty by blood. I carry my Father's genetics within me. If I ever sire children, they too will be seen as traitors. For some humans, their deeds are their sins. For me, me worst sin was hatching instead of slowly dying in my egg. Would have saved a lot of others a lot of trouble. But...I am a light dragon. We are supposed to be serene, graceful, slow to anger, yet, I'm the complete opposite of that. I cannot end my own life either. My will to live is too strong." Sergeant Brenner looked at the dragon next to him and sighed.

"You know...I had a son, once upon a time. He...He was a lot like you. Didn't think he belonged anywhere, he had his own querks that made him a unique individual. However, most kids his own age didn't like his...independance...they did everything they could to aggrevate him, get under his skin. One day, they went too far. He was found hanging from the second floor of the academy. I...I hated myself for so long that I had allowed this to happen. That I had not given him more support than I should have. I joined the Army to help me move on with my life...now...I think all I've done is walk into a living nightmare."

Caldor was listening but not showing any outward appearance of doing so. Despite himself, he felt a tear form in his eye.

The last time he had cried was when his father had been executed and his mother had subsequently abandoned him.

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George felt the wind on his face and felt the grass swaying in the breeze around him. Beside him was a young man with the Resistance, another farmer named Conner Graham. He couldn't escape the glance of Conner looking at him oddly. Then again, he had one eye bandaged and was holding a scoped rifle in his hands. When he had grabbed the weapon, an old hunting rifle, earlier, one of the others stopped him and asked him if he was sure he wanted to use that rifle. George's reply had been simple.

'A sniper only needs one eye to shoot.'

He was now on a little knoll on the opposite side of where Amber and Miles were stationed and then gazed down the road. In the distance, he could hear engines coming, slowly but surely. George turned to Conner.

"Here they come. Remember, only fire on the first and last vehicles in the convoy. The vehicle that's carrying Caldor is not to be fired upon." Connor nodded and readied his own rifle.

Using binoculars, George spied the vehicles and then wound up the field radio nearby.

"Alright everyone, I see two cars, a truck, and then another car. Amber, you and Miles take out the first car. Lee and Sherman, take out the rear car. Conner and I will take out the second vehicle. We...we cannot allow any survivors."

There was no confirmation, nor did he expect one. Everyone in the group knew that this would be a long, dirty fight. When fighting in occupied territory, prisoners were not possible.

The vehicles entered the valley completely unaware of the group hiding in the tall grass on the surrounding hills. In the back of the truck, George could see Caldor with only one soldier, a sergeant, sitting with him. The first car passed the point of no return and the peace was shattered with a volley of rifle rounds tearing through the first, second, and last vehicles in the convoy.

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The first thing Caldor noticed was a scent on the wind. The smell of humans in the grass. Part of him wanted to start thrashing about, maybe in the hopes the truck would crash. The other, more curious part of him, wanted to see what would happen. He got his answer when gunshots rang out and the first vehicle skidded off the road, flipped and landed upside down in a ditch, and the last vehicle slowed to a stop, the driver's lifeless corpse fallen over the horn.

The truck carrying Caldor started to speed up along with the car carrying the officer but more shots caused the tires on the left side of the truck to go flat, forcing both vehicles to stop. Whether the soldiers in the last car wanted it or not, they were now engaged in a firefight. Sergeant Brenner looked to Caldor and nodded.

"Not to worry, I'm not going to resist." Brenner moved to the hitches on the chains holding Caldor down and started releasing them. All the while, shots buzzed all around.

As the last chain became slack, Caldor rose, shedding chains with a cacophanous rattling and looked to Brenner.

"Thank you." Brenner nodded but then went wide-eyed with shock.

"Caldor, _MOVE!_" Before Caldor could think, a voice broke through the sound of battle.

"Traitor!"

Caldor turned to see the officer he'd missed earlier holding a pistol in one hand, his face twisted in anger. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Brenner coming in front of him, arms out stretched, a look of defiance on his face. The officer squeezed the trigger, the pistol fired, time slowed down.

Caldor saw the bullet leave the gun, travel a straight line, and impact Brenner in the chest, just below the heart. Brenner went wide-eyed and fell back, landing in between Caldor's forelegs. Caldor focused solely on the officer whose expression now became one of fear as he realized what he had just done and how close he was to a _very_ pissed off dragon. Fear gripped the officer's hand as he dropped the pistol and raised his hands. All for naught. Caldor opened his mouth and fired a light blast, point blank at the officer who screamed once before the light burned him away until nothing but his boots remained, smoking, the soles melted to the pavement.

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George and the Resistance teams heard the shout and saw the blast of light and charged down as the light faded. The first thing he was aware of was the officer's boots, still comically standing upright, the soles melted to the pavement. A broomhandle-style pistol lying on the ground beside the boots, and a long scorch mark running along the road to the opposite side.

Looking up at the truck, he saw the dragon, Caldor, hunched over the body of a Rotarian soldier. The man was still breathing but his coat was open, revealing the dark red stain spreading over his white undershirt. George climbed aboard the truck and gazed at Caldor who watched him with both confusion and also wariness. He came forward and knelt by the soldier.

"I saw what you did. Thank you." The soldier chuckled and then grimaced.

"I didn't do it for you. I...I did it...because I failed...my son long ago...I was not about to fail again...Caldor...he's a good one...no matter what anyone says...give him the chance no one else is willing...to...give..."

The soldier closed his eyes and slumped to one side, his mouth twisted into a smile. Caldor rose and looked down at the soldier, denying his emotions to show now of all times.

"I hope you find your son in the afterlife Sergeant Brenner. Y...You were one of the good ones. Not a monster...a man." Caldor turned to George, still not recognizing him, and used his right wing to salute.

"Aerial Sergeant Third Class Caldor the Silverwing reporting for duty. I am aware you must be a Resistance cell but surely you must know who I am. So allow me to ask you, why? Why risk yourselves to save me when allowing me to be imprisoned would have been easier?" George came forward, allowing himself to smile slightly.

"Because Caldor, my Father saw something in you but was unable to give you the chance he believed you were entitled to. I believe that, despite what others think of you, you have what it take to help us liberate Launces and push the Rotarians back. Plus, I don't really give a damn what others think of you, as we're on the same side, you're one of us."

Caldor gazed at George for a moment as if trying to recognize him and then jerked his head back with a startled snort.

"George de Launces. So, like my father before me I am pulled into contact with your family. Only, I do not wish any harm to you or yours." George smiled and nodded, resting a hand on Caldor's neck.

"I know. That's why we need you. The Resistance is only just fledging now. We need a heavy hitter who has no love for the Rotarians and doesn't give a damn about what people think of him." Caldor grunted and then gave a smile.

"Well then, I suppose you found the right dragon. However, before I can be of any use to you..." He lifted his shredded wings that still dripped with blood. A sight that made Conner and Lee turn green, which made Caldor smile even more.

"...I need to have my wings sewn up." George nodded.

"We have a surgeon standing by at our little hideout. He's sew you up and while you recover, we'll continue recruitment." Caldor thought for a moment and then chuckled.

"Well, if you need more veteran members, I _did_ overhear a while earlier about some soldiers who had been captured on the wall. A few of them were Fahrpanzer crews, some were snipers with the 11th Elite Rangers, and the rest were Dragoons. _ALL_ of them, I highly recommend recruiting as soon as possible." George nodded and then turned to see Amber coming up.

"One of the cars had a briefcase. Looks like some maps, along with some rosters, even the locations of planned defensive fortifications, fuel dumps, ammo dumps, guard barracks, and...hello, what in the world is this? See there? On the MacGreagor farm, what does that mean?"

George looked at the map where Amber pointed and there was a circle with a designation he'd never seen before.

'V1'

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(Black Sand Island, Mechanos' Factory Compound)

Mechanos sat at the desk overlooking the compound which was his achievement. His citidel sat atop the small mountain on the volcanic island, the sand for which the island was named covered the shores. To the south and southwest sat the dockworks, each massive dock held three to four ships moored on each. To the west was the airfield, a massive undertaking housing dozens of super hangars each holding anywhere between 100-300 aircraft. The north held the manufacturing buildings for the ground units. Rifles, machineguns, grenades, tanks, armored halftracks, and various other pieces of equipment rolled off the conveyors at a rate that would stagger and confound even the greatest of geniuses.

Before him however, lay the reports from his field commanders about encountering enemy fortifications and strong resistance from the military forces. He gazed at the paper next to the report and sighed. He had wanted to keep this under wraps a little while longer but now circumstances had forced his hand.

Then again, hadn't he _wanted_ an excuse to use them?

Still, what is the people found out about his secret workshops? What would their reactions be about him delving into such research? What would they think, what would the reaction be if they found out he was working and following _his_ notes and equipment?

He shook his head to clear such weak thoughts from his mind and turned on the transmitter next to his desk. He then began typing the message that was addressed to all forward units.

IWWKVWMEV, IUU AEOZKY _(ATTENTION, ALL FORCES)_

RKOBMYYMEV WE TYK VKL UEVC-OIVCK LKIREVY COIVWKJ. _(PERMISSION TO USE NEW LONG-RANGE WEAPONS GRANTED.)_

WIOCKW BISEO ZMPMUMIV IVJ BMUMWIOH AIZMUIWMKY. _(TARGET MAJOR CIVILIAN AND MILITARY FACILITIES.)_

ROESKZW P4 MY ITWXEOMDKJ. _(PROJECT V1 IS AUTHORIZED.)_

The green light came on showing that the message had been sent and confirmed, then he buzzed his adjuctant.

"Send word to Captain Kronan. I have an..._assignment_ that requires the expertise of the 11th Air Group."

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Okay, gonna skip around while George and Caldor heal up, next chapter goes back to Bertram who, after the loss of his best friend, is in a very dark place.

Next Chapter: Vengeance.


	36. Vengeance

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 35: Vengeance

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_The rain came down in sheets over the canopy of the jet as its engines wound down on the runway. The echoes of the others' aircraft were barely audible through the rain, the thunder, and the shouts of the ground crew. He was barely aware of a ground crewman popping the canopy on his aircraft, exposing him to the rain and soaking him through the flightsuit in a matter of seconds. He gazed at the crewman who expressed only curiousity as to why he hadn't left his aircraft yet._

_ A tap on his shoulder and some whispered words between one crewman to another saw the first pale and utter an apology. Then again, Bertram had drowned out everything that had been said since he saw Ayatane's plane go down._

_ Looking down at his now soaked flightsuit, he only sighed, rose from the seat, descended the ladder and shuffled slowly towards the barracks. His mind replayed the events and that haunting message from Ayatane._

_ 'Can't do it Bertram...C-Caught a round in my back...I...I can't move.'_

_ 'S-Sorry Bertram...that's o-one order I cannot follow...D-Do me a favor...tell Sahne that...I love her very much...and tell her that...I'm sorry...'_

_ 'tell Sahne...I love her...I'm sorry...'_

_ 'I'm sorry...'_

_ 'I'm sorry...'_

_ 'I'm sorry...'_

_ A vision of Ayatane came to Bertram's mind. He was battered, bruised and bloodied. His eyes held a forlorn look as if he had done something awful. Then, he saw a red glow from behind Ayatane. Bertram watched in horror as flames ignited around Ayatane's boots, yet he neither noticed them or cried out. The flames spread upwards, engulfing his lower body, then his arms, his chest, then finally, his face. The flames winked out a moment later leaving only ashes which scattered to the winds._

_ 'I'm sorry...'_

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Bertram awoke with a fright and gazed around to see Dieter, Werner, Stern, and Voss standing around him. In the next room he hears weeping and sees Jake and Kani trying to console a heartbroken Sahne. Bertram looks at Dieter who shakes his head.

"Words now would only cause more grief. Sometimes, the best thing in the world to give a grieving family member is an ear to lend and a shoulder to cry on." Bertram looked down at his cot and sighed.

"I know this is stupid to say but...how many, besides Jyne, have you ever lost in battle?" Dieter sighed and sat down on the cot beside Bertram.

"I keep forgetting sometimes that I'm old enough to be your father. Probably old age. But...I have lost people before. It's never easy...you never forget them...and you find yourself reluctant to replace them...still, a replacement for a fallen friend doesn't mean that you replace the friend with someone else, no, you remember your friends and carry on with the new guys."

"You're not answering my question." Dieter sighed.

"Alright. You want the truth? I've lost twenty-seven under my command. Thirty-eight if you count the times that _I_ was the new guy. It was during the Callinar Incursion. We had just finished escorting some bombers over Port Grand Vista, a completely successful bombing run...that is until the air forces from Ursa and Retorinc found us. They came at us out of the clouds, using the sun to hide themselves, guns blazing. We lost six bombers and three fighters before our joke of a CO decided to get his head out of his ass and order the squadron to protect the bombers. By that time however, it was already too late. Tellanian pilots, flying not just the Tellanian I5-Fs but also flying Syllian P-5Bs they had purchased."

"Anyway, they flew complete circles around us. Bombers were falling out of the sky, some in flames, others in pieces. I was hearing the screams of men who were burning alive in their planes as they caught fire and more than once heard a single gunshot ring out as some of my wingmates decided to take their own lives rather than burn with their planes. Before I knew it, Jyne and I were the last fighters in the air protecting a lone Callinian Gifu G-19-19 that had one engine siezed, the tail gunner was dead, the pilot had a bloody stump where his right hand should have been, and the nose gunner was blithering like an idiot. Well the Tellanians were going for the clean sweep and circled back. Jyne was the closest so they shot at him. A round grazed his forehead and another shattered his propellor but he survived. Managed to land in a hayfield. The bomber tried to evade but at that moment, the spar cables on the right wing snapped, beheading the pilot. The nose gunner was screaming bloody murder as the plane's right wing buckled and he fell with the bomber." Dieter took a moment to light his pipe before continuing.

"Anyway, I was the last man standing. Seeing that they outnumbered me forty to one, I dove for the ground as fast as I could without having the plane come apart on me, and I'll tell you it damn near did. I have _never_ seen a plane's wings vibrate that much as that one's did as I dropped. One bastard got in behind me and fired a burst, striking my engine. Well, it seized, and the propellor stopped so suddenly it broke free from the bolt and damn near took my head with it. I managed to glide the plane down to the ground and land. My first mission and it was also the first, and only, time I was ever shot down. I met Gerald Ross the next week, although back then he was under the alias Lance Holden. The rest of those I've lost were mainly nuggets who didn't heed my advice or recruits who though showing off would impress me and wound up getting themselves killed."

Bertram nodded and looked out the window to see the rain still falling. Moments later, Jake came back in and looked at Bertram.

"What's wrong?" Jake took a deep breath before explaining.

"It's just that...well...Sahne will need someone to look after her. I'm...I'm requesting leave for a while so that I can help Sahne get settled. I'll be taking her to Eastport so that she can stay with my Mother. It's just for a day or two to help get her settled and introduce them to each other. With...With Dad gone, Mom could use the company." Bertram kept his gaze at the window before nodding.

"Tell her something for me, will you? Tell Sahne that I'll get the bastard responsible for this. It doesn't matter if I have to travel to the ends of the earth and back again to find him, I will and he will pay." Jake nodded but then thought of something.

"That's all well and good Bertram but remember, revenge is never the answer. If you encounter Reaver again, then go all out, but in the process of fighting him, don't become the thing you've sworn to destroy." Bertram chuckled darkly.

"I doubt on my worse day I could become a self-righteous, egomaniacal, murderous son of a bitch intent on destroying the world and restablishing an empire that was built upon vice, greed, murder, and slavery." Dieter gazed at Bertram, his brows furrowed.

"Bertram. Remember what I told you the day I defected? Not all Rotarians are alike. These are some who do not wish for a war and only wish to live in peace. Mechanos, back during the Incursion, and even before then, he was known as an extremist. Most people thought him simply eccentric or perhaps crazy, then again we thought the same about your Father." Dieter ignored the glare Bertram gave him and continued.

"It wasn't until he managed to implant enough of his people into our parliament to get himself elected that he let the deception fall and showed himself for what he truly was: a genius. Misguided, determined, and underhanded, yes, but still he is gifted both tactically and technically. You think Tellanos is the first country Mechanos conquered? No, before he did anything else, he conquered Rotiart. Those who opposed him were branded as traitors and exiled, sent somewhere else, or vanished under mysterious circumstances."

This time Ivanov came in, rain pouring from his coat and came forward.

"Major. We just recieved a message from you Father. The 5th Fleet has sailed and is under orders to protect Peninsula City. In their haste to take Launces, Mechanos pulled more troops from the southern force than he should have. The Rotarian 9th Brigade has been fought to a standstill by members of the Dracocorps and the 11th Army. The 9th is within shelling distance of the city and artillery from the defences fires on the enemy and is in turn fired upon by what few pieces the enemy have left." Dieter looked at Ivanov.

"What about tanks?" Ivanov shook his head.

"Not a chance. The Rotarians fielded some tanks at the start of the attack but thanks to the unseasonable rains, the peninsula has practically turned back into swampland. Their tanks are sinking in the mire and the defenders at the city are still at full strength. Aside from some machineguns, mortars, and a few bazookas, all the enemy has is rifles. However, we also recieved word that a message was intercepted from a submarine called the _Gigantic_. It was confirming orders to sail to Peninsula City and start launching attacks aganst it." Bertram saw Dieter pale and looked to him.

"What is the _Gigantic_? How can a sub launch an attack on a city on an elevated peninsula surrounded by a wall similar to Launces?"

"That subject goes back to why Mechanos wanted an alliance with Damoneni. There was a mechanist in Damoneni, Iddagio Morrelli, who was studying something called 'rocketry'. In return for access to Mechanos' notes, Mr. Morrelli had to come to Rotiart and share his notes with Mechanos. This was...I think seven years ago...there was a big hullabaloo in the papers about his visit. Anyway, Mechanos first became a mechanist by designing submarines. He showed Morrelli a sub design that apparently made Morrelli sign a treaty agreement without a second thought. He then moved his lab to Rotairt, along with all his research notes, and has been the technical head of Mechanos' experimental weapons division ever since. The design was for the Olympia-class submarine." Ivanov looked to Dieter, curiousity plain on his face.

"What is the Olympia? What is it's purpose?"

"The _Olympia_, and her sister ships: _Megalodon_, and _Gigantic_ are a type of submarine that can transport, ready, and fire rockets at an inland target. I've never seen the subs but I've heard the rumors. A submarine that can dwarf an aircraft carrier, capable of diving to unfathomable depths, and capable of causing mass destruction. Publically, the _Zerstörung_-class battleships_,_ are the flagships of the Rotarian Navy Fleets. In reality, it is the Olympia-class subs. That's what always got to Mechanos. The Praetorian Empire always had subs that could out-class anything Rotiart had before he began inventing. Now their entire sub corps is next to useless." Bertram thought for a moment and then looked to Dieter.

"Does the sub have to surface to fire the rockets?" Dieter nodded.

"Alright then, have your aircraft outfitted with high explosive bombs, cannons rounds, and external drop tanks. We're flying for Peninsula City." Voss suddenly shot up from his cot with a shocked expression on his face.

"Bertram...er...Major, that's an unauthorized mission! We haven't been deployed and plus we'll be flying through occupied territory to reach the city! How do we reach them?" Bertram smiled a devious smile and looked at Voss.

"Quite simple. We confirm the Josh's new ship can indeed allow the takeoff and landing of jet aircraft and twin engine bombers. If they just left Eastport, they should be somewhere near Whitecliff, probably near Land's End. That means we won't be flying through hostile airspace, and we'll still be in radio range to contact both command and my brother. Besides, I doubt command will fault us for taking the initiative." Dieter shook his head but chuckled all the same.

"Engage and sink the _Gigantic_, huh? Well, if you're aiming to piss off Mechanos, that's one sure-fire way to do it. Word is the man loves his submarines above all else. If he could, he'd marry 'em. Sinking his pride and joy is liable to make his reckless but also make him more dangerous."

Bertram said nothing. He leapt from his cot, threw on a raincoat and went to explain his plan to the base commander.

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_(Land's End, 7 miles south-southwest of Whitecliff, RNV Leviathan CV-1)_

FLASH MESSAGE FROM STONEFORT AFB TO 5TH FLEET

INTERCEPTED ENEMY TRANSMISSION FROM SUBMARINE PLANNING ATTACK ON PC AND FLEET. LAUNCES 1ST AIR WING CURRENTLY EN ROUTE TO LINK UP WITH YOU.

SUBMARINE BELIEVED TO BE TRANSPORTING AND CAPABLE OF FIRING ROCKETS INLAND AT CITY.

SINK AT ALL COSTS.

Josh looked over the message and handed it back to Anne as he turned back to the bridge. The rain was light here but the wind was the real problem. A moment later, a midshipman came up to the bridge with several large coffee mugs on a tray and passed them around to the bridge crew before saluting and returning to the galley below. Josh took a long drink from his mug and then nodded to Anne.

"Alert the Air Boss in the aft castle, formation coming in from Stonefort. Tell him to rig the arresting wires and possibly even the nets. If I know my brother, he's likely thinking the deck is long enough to just have a standard landing. Also pass the word to our vessels to be extra vigilant with their sonar checks and have our destroyers and escorts start performing zig zag patrols. We've got an enemy supersub trying to reach Peninsula City and I don't intend on giving them the chance." Anne saluted and relayed the instructions to the aft castle. Josh turned to the radar officer.

"Check your screens closely for that incoming formation. I don't want to be caught unawares."

"Aye, sir." At that moment, Anne picked up the reciever for a moment, nodded then replaced it.

"Captain, the _Rampant Lion_ has repaired its engines and is once again making full speed. Commander Walker is bringing up the rear but is awefully embarrassed at the incident." Josh nodded, thinking about the hiccups his own ship and crew had just after leaving port.

"Well, the _Rampant Lion_ is just like the _Leviathan_, she's a new ship rushed into service before a shakedown run was planned. There's bound to be a few hiccups. Just so long as we get them ironed out before we engage an enemy force. The sea lanes around Schildhaven are no longer safe. We could very well encounter an enemy force here or we may not run into anything until we reach Peninsula City. Either way, this is going to be our trial by fire."

Anne nodded and then a moment later, she sighed.

"Josh, I know how to read you by now. What's got you so worried?" Josh suppressed the urge to growl, checking himself and remembering this was not just his XO but also his betrothed. Still, he didn't like being put on the spot in front of the crew like this.

"I'm hardly the only person on this ship who still has family in Launces. The Rotarians claim that George was killed yet the IDs were fake and the body that was delivered before we sailed was also not him. George had a birthmark under his right arm and another was dead center on his back, the body returned had neither. That just unnerves me for some reason. I don't know if my brother is alive, dead, captured, held hostage, or what. I remember stories about enemy soldiers holding important officers or soldiers hostage and then claiming them as dead so that they had free reign to torture and interrogate them." Anne nodded and then turned back to see three of the crewmen listening in. Scowling, she spoke to them.

"What do you three think you're about?" Josh looked to the men who turned and saluted, their faces masks of worry. The tallest of the three, the starboard lookout, spoke first.

"It's just that...what if that's what the Rotarians are doing to my kid brother ma'am? He was a crewman on Fahrpanzer 34, on the outer wall. Lee here, his father was a radioman in the Tower, and Jakob's sister was a field medic. The Rotarian troops sent similar letters to our folks saying they had their bodies and will try to return them." Anne quickly flushed with mortification and nodded.

"Sorry. I forget that you men were from Launces as well." The lookout nodded.

"Not to worry ma'am. As the Captain always says, where there's hope, there's life. Who knows? Our kinfolks might just be laying low or, heh, if I know my brother, he's liable to be getting on the Rotarian's nerves. Our Dad was a member of the original Launces Resistance and he showed Bobby and me every single hiding place and hole in the wall in the city." Josh chuckled at that and then walked over to the port windows to watch the flight deck.

The air boss had already gotten the crews on the deck to start clearing the deck, rigging the cables, nets, and barricades, and making sure there was no debris on the deck. With any aircraft, but more so with jets, decks had to be especially clean. A piece of debris, a dropped bolt, nut, screw, or even a dropped lighter could get sucked into the engine, destroying it and possibly causing an explosion.

The _Leviathan_ was as much a work of art as it was an incredible ship of war. The flight deck was long and wide enough for several aircraft to take off and land simultaniously. It was also reinforced as just below the flight deck was the gun deck which held several turrets for defence. There were some painted sections on the stern of the ship that were color coded for landing. The fan-tail, or the area off the stern where the planes landed, was a favorite spot for many crewmen to relax and take a breather when they were off duty or when they weren't launching or retrieving aircraft.

As he gazed across the fleet, _his_ fleet, he saw the radar operator out the corner of his eye signal him.

"Captain! Multiple aircraft inbound!" Josh checked his watch and then looked at the message again and compared the time.

"That's odd...how many planes are there?"

"Looks to be...twenty-seven. Is that the correct number?" Josh frowned and turned away.

"No. It isn't. XO, sound battlestations. Order all interceptors into the air now!"

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Bertram checked the map along with the landamrks he could see from this altitude and nodded.

"Okay everyone, we're almost there. Ivanov, any traffic through the radio?"

_"Negative Major. Just the normal chatter I...wait!...Major! The 5th Fleet just ordered all fighters in the air, they're under attack!"_ Bertram paled for a moment then, he forced his shock down and growled, keying the radio.

"All aircraft, full power now! Time to go do the Lord's work!"

He heard a comment from Wolff about that but he ignored it. He pushed the throttle to full and felt the jet accelerate to full speed. Gazing past the clouds, he saw a formation of twin-engine propellor fighter-bombers flying at high speed towards the group of ships that surrounded a _massive_ carrier and pushed the stick down, forcing the jet into a dive. He angled the nose to lead up with the flanking formation, aimed the crosshairs in front of the left group and squeezed the trigger, feeling the satisfying recoil of six 25mm cannons and watching the tracer shells arc forward and slam into the closest aircraft.

The shells ripped the cowling off the port engine, shredded the left wing and shattered the canopy where the tail gunner was. The engine caught fire, seized, and the plane dropped from formation and the fighters began scattering as flak started coming up from the fleet. Bertram chased down another enemy as the radio came alive with chatter from the _Leviathan._

_ "This is Lieutenant Gordon Abernathy, callsign Angler, my formation is going up. Major de Launces, can you cover us while we climb?"_

"This is Paladin, we copy Angler. First Wing will thin them out for you."

_"Paladin this is _Leviathan_, our radar has detected another flight of aircraft incoming. They aren't answering our hails so assume they're hostile. Fair warning, they're moving like jets."_ Bertram felt his hands tighten on the stick as he keyed for his squadron.

"Attention First Wing, we have what is believed to be enemy jets incoming. D Squadron, you are our heavy hitters when we face that sub. You are ordered to land on the _Leviathan_. C Squadron, assist the naval squadrons with wiping out those planes here now. A, B, and E Squadrons, form up on me and let's get the jump on the enemy for a change."

D Squadron sent a line to the _Leviathan_ that was answered with the deck being made ready to recieve as soon as the last of the carrier force was airborne. A Squadron fell in with Bertram, B Squadron took up formation on the right and E Squadron on the left. Together, the wing of jets flew in the direction that the radar operator had said he'd seen the incoming threat.

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_"Attention flight. This mission takes priority over anything else. The intel confirms that the Syllian 5th Fleet is en route to Peninsula City to support the defenders. Other reinforcements including the 11th Air Group are currently engaging the defenders. Your mission is not to destroy the enemy fleet. Rather, just slow them down. Prevent them from making a timely arrival. That is all."_

Lieutenant Oscar Horos cursed silently into his radio. What he had thought was a mission of great importance (the _only_ reason he had ousted himself from the bunkhouse and the prostitute that had been sharing his bunk), turned out to be nothing more than another of Marks' ideas to get him out of the way.

There was a reason Horos' callsign was 'Myrmidon', he enjoyed fighting. Whether it be in the air or on the ground. He was a big man who enjoyed stepping on people who got in his way. He once busted a subordinate's nose because he had talked back. Despite this, he was a soldier, doing his duty, and absolutely despised Marks and the other members of the 666th becasue in his opinion they were little more than thugs.

Granted he was no saint himself, having nearly been convicted of murder for 'accidentally' tossing his brother in law off the roof of a seventeen story building because he had caught the bastard cheating on his sister. It had almost gone to trial when someone discovered that he had, at one time, been an exceptional pilot and then the case against him fell apart. Witnesses recanted or vanished without a trace, the most vocal of the bastard's family had met an unfortunate 'accident' himself and then no lawyer in the whole of River Bridge would touch his case with a twelve foot barge pole.

He was a free man but was now under the thumb of Alfred Marks. Angrily he switched the radio on to speak to his group.

"Alright maggots, now hear this. This isn't going to be like shooting civvies back in Launces or strafing ambulances in Sanijo, we're going against experianced pilots who know their shit and have tally marks longer than most of your johnsons. Yeah Horse, I'm talking to _**YOU**_ dickwad! Just stay glued to my tail and you'll all come home alive. Tell you what, belay that, any of you get five kills...aw hell any of you get _one_ kill today, I'm buyin' the whole damn formation a night out with the whores and some of the finest damn rotgut this sorry excuse for an enemy has to offer!"

There were cheers to that until a frantic alert came through the radio.

_"Attention 666th D Squadron, where the hell are you?! We're getting our asses shot off by these damned jets!"_ **That** got Horos' attention as he grabbed the radio, his huge hand threatening to crush the mike in its grip.

"This is Myrmidon, what the fuckin' hell are you talking about? There are no jets assigned to this carrier force!"

_"Oh yes there are, I just watched most of my wingmen blown out of the sky by twin engine jets sporting nothing but cannon armaments! I have half a mind to-oh no! We're hit! We're hit! Gah-!"_

The radio cut out suddenly and Horos started scanning the skies and noticed contrails above.

"Fuck me...They're jets alright. High speed, and high above. Well, I'm all for turning around. Everyone okay with that?"

No one said otherwise and Horos' squadron started turning to retreat from the airspace.

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_"This is Black Knight to Paladin, looks like the enemy is bugging out. Looks like we came across Myrmidon's squadron."_ Bertram keyed his radio.

"Myrmidon? Who's he?"

_"He's the wingleader of D Squadron. Lieutenant Oscar Horos. Don't know much of him except that he will not stick around for a straight up brawl. He's more of a hit you when you're down kinda fighter. A bully in every sense of the word. He was originally going to be sent to prison for murdering his brother in law and the prostitute he was cheating on his wife with but something happened and he was set free and recruited into the Special Air Branch of the RAAF. One thing that sets him apart is that he hates Marks and the other officers of the 666th with a passion. Still though, we've got plenty of fuel. Though it won't be much of a challenge, Horos is basically the babysitter. He flies only with nuggets."_ Bertram keyed the radio.

"It doesn't matter. They're part of the 666th. They're the enemy. They're linked to the bastard who killed Ayatane. We are evenly matched but like you said, they're all nuggets. This is going to be a turkey shoot."

Bertram did a wingover and cove his jet at the formation. As he dove the radio came on and he heard his brother come over it.

_"This is Captain Joshua de Launces to the Launces First Wing. Enemy aircraft repelled. You are to disengage whatever foes you are facing and land on the carrier. I repeat, let the runners retreat and return to the carrier."_ Bertram growled with disgust and flipped the radio off, cutting the other transmission off.

He dove at the enemy, lined up the sights and opened fire. His rounds tore through an enemy jet on the flank, setting its fuel tank alight and causing it to erupt in a massive fireball. He looked to see that the enemy jets were all panicked now. Some climbed, some dove, some jinked left and others right. Some simply froze and continued a straight course.

He went after the sitting ducks first.

Bertram raked the closest one over the canopy which shattered into a mix of glass, blood, and brain matter. He then yawed left and strafed two more in the same fashion. He looked around for the other jets and saw one trying to dive on him. A split S which turned into an inverted loop maneuver dodged the attack and brought Bertram in perfect position to clip the enemy's wings with a well aimed burst.

He corrected his flight and then spotted the one he was after. The enemy wingleader.

Bertram pushed the jet for all it was worth and managed to close the distance rather quickly and fired a short burst. A last minute jink saved Horos' miserable life but he had the right rudder shot away and lost roughly ten inches off his right wing. Bertram reaimed and was about to squeeze off another burst when the canopy launched from the aircraft and Horos, still sitting in the pilot's seat, was launched from the jet moments before the engine caught fire and the jet went into a tail spin.

He kept on and spotted another enemy jet, pursued and fired. Gazing around, he saw that the last two jets were out of range and he eased back around. As he leveled, he glanced right and saw the tell-tale white parachute that marked Horos as he descended. He growled.

This time, it wasn't a simple angry growl. Like Josh had done before him, this growl was pure feral rage.

Bertram pushed the jet into a near backbreaking 8G turn and lined up his sights, his crosshairs on the parachute. He was seeing red. If the radio had been on he would have heard Dieter, Wolff, Ivanov, Voss, and Kani yelling frantically for him to cease fire and stand down.

He lowered the crosshairs over Horos and squeezed the trigger.

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Josh was waiting on the flight deck for his brother's flight to return. On the deck with him were members of D Squadron but also members of the ship's Royal Marines who enforced security on the ship. C Squadron, B Squadron, most of A Squadron and E Squadron had landed and also stood by Joshua as his brother executed a textbook carrier landing, cut off his engines, popped the canopy and clambered out, his face blank and pale and his eyes dull.

Josh turned to look at the members of his brother's wing before approaching his brother.

"Bertram." Bertram gazed at his brother with empty eyes and muttered something unintelligible.

"Major Bertram de Launces." Josh repeated, more forcefully than before. Ths time Bertram gazed up at him.

"Josh..."

"Don't 'Josh' me. Do you have _any_ idea how much trouble you're in?! Do you?!" Bertram looked into his brother's eyes and then turned away from the mixture of anger and worry that burned in those eyes. Josh saw this and his frown deepened.

"No. You look at me, little brother. You disobeyed my orders to return and land. You engaged a retreating foe who, according to the radio traffic we overheard were nuggets, _**recruits**_. Then you mercilessly pursue the squadron leader, incapacitate his plane and then you...you..." Josh gazed to the pilots on the flight deck who looked on in stunned silence and then sighed.

"Effective immediately, you are relieved of duty. You are grounded Major. No sorties, no flying, nothing. Major Dieter Muntz will assume command of the Wing in your absense. You are lucky you are my brother or I would have had you thrown into the brig. I _still_ might once word of this reaches Mom and Dad. How will they react when they learn their youngest son strafed a man in his parachute?" Josh turned and then motioned for the Marines to come to him and his brother.

"Lieutenant Wolff told me of what happened to Ayatane but that does not give you permission to flip your lid and start gunning down helpless soldiers and pilots. That makes you no better than the enemy. We will continue on course for Peninsula City but you will be restricted to quarters. I don't want to place you under guard but I will if you force me to. Dismissed."

Josh watched as Bertram walked between the Marines as they escorted him to his quarters. Silently, the rest of the First Wing and the rest of the onlookers dispersed and returned to their duties. Once he was sure he was alone. Josh ran behind Bertram's jet and vomitted over the side.

He had just been forced to arrest his own brother.

Had he gazed a little higher on the plane, next to the canopy, he would have seen a dent caused by a round from Horos' sidearm in a final act of defiance.

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Okay, kinda threw a curve ball in there. What will await the 5th Fleet at Peninsula City? What awaits Bertram once this mess is finished? Will the _Gigantic_ render the fleet's mission moot? And what about this mysterious 11th Air Group?

Find out next time...

Next Chapter: Red Dawn


	37. Red Dawn

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 36: Red Dawn

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The ocean waters were calm and serene. A deep blue that in most sailors opinions put even the biggest and brightest of saphires to shame. Just under the surface of the calm current swam schools of fish in various colors and sizes. Trailing the fish swam the hunters, hoping for a chance at an easy meal. Indeed, the ocean was calm today; yet, if anyone had been around to notice, they would have seen something...strange.

Two short black cylinders bobbing along in a forward motion. One slightly taller than the other and the foremost having a slight reflective sheen to it.

Under the calm currents of the ocean, under the schools of fish and their swarms of predators, past the point where the sun's warm rays can no longer pierce the ocean, the point where the vibrant blue of the surface gives way to the inky darkness of the deep ocean that houses all manner of creature more befitting nightmares than dreams. It is through this darkness that a submarine cruises slowly, yet surely, through the depths. The only sign of its presense are, of course, its radio mast and periscope, fully extended to the surface both to recieve news of the world but also the gaze around and ensure that there are no threats on the surface.

A submarine, though a machine, is a predator. A metallic wolf that lurks beneath the surface, awaiting patiently for its prey of choice, merchant vessels, to sail into the crosshair of the scope. Yet, even the predator has it's predator. The only surface ship capable of sinking a submarine while submerged is a destroyer, the depth charges they employ to destroy subs create pressure bubbles deep under the water near the sub. These bubbles are there only for an instant before water rushes back in to fill the void and creates a pocket of pressure so extreme that nothing in its vacinity can survive.

Today though, there were no surface ships. No merchantmen, no warships, not even fishing boats. Just the submarine, deep under the waves, though its orders, to be sure, would give the targets of these orders nightmares for years to come.

ORDER COMMUNICATION 14C-3G

TIDEPOOL NAVAL BASE TO _SSM-4903_

INTEL CONFIRMS DESTRUCTION OF 666 D SQUADRON AND 138 WING.

THOUGH FORCE IS LOST, OBJECTIVE HAS SUCCEEDED. SYLLIAN 5TH FLEET BELIEVED DELAYED FOR TIME BEING.

4903 IS TO HOLD POSITION OUTSIDE RANGE OF PC WALL GUNS AND BEGIN BOMBARDMENT OPERATIONS. LAUNCH OF KLASSE 1 ROCKETS CONFIRMED.

YOUR REQUEST TO USE KLASSE 2 ROCKETS HAS BEEN DENIED BY ORDER OF THE EMPEROR. HE BELIEVES THAT USE OF SPECIAL WEAPONS ON SYLLIAN SOIL WOULD BE DETRIMENTAL TO OUR EFFORTS.

CONFIRMATION CODE: ADTF4106-267CBZO

MESSAGE TERMINATES.

The Captain gave the message back to the XO and turned to the helmsman.

"All engines ahead flank. We're no longer running silent. Surface the boat, we'll run on top." The XO nodded and turned to the crew.

"Surface the ship, aye! All engines ahead flank! Once we surface, all lookouts above and open the cannon bays!" The radioman raised his hand.

"Captain, request from a force on nearby island. They're requesting a volley against a holdout force." The special weapons officer smiled.

"Captain, it _would_ give us a chance to calibrate the gyroscopes. I'm afraid the loading crews didn't bother setting them properly. We don't want one of them coming back at us." The Captain, secretly wanting to see these new weapons in action, nodded.

"Prepare Chambers one, five, eight, and twelve. Get me a firing solution. XO, cancel the cannons. Instead, ready the viewing chamber. I'm going to see this."

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(moments later)

The Captain stood on the viewing deck as the armor plates shielding it rose. The intercom had not gone silent once as he listened in to the crews in the rocket chambers preping their weapons.

_"Target aquisition room at the ready. Enemy coordinates are: 156 degrees latitude, 4 degrees east, 047 degrees longitude, 2.5 degrees south. Setting gyros."_

_ ..._

_ ..._

_ "Gyros are set. Hydrolics are good. Opening outer doors on chambers one, five, eight, and twelve. Turning over to firing control."_

_ "Fire control ready, lifting elevator table for chambers. All compartments, we are live. Repeat, weapons are live."_

A mechanical noise made the Captain look us as four rockets rose from their chambers. Stabilizers and all, and halted just as the engines were visible.

_"Fire control is set. Captain, XO, SWO, please insert your weapons keys and activate the command console.."_

The Captain had already handed his key to the Special Weapons Officer, or SWO, and smiled as the lights in the observation room changed from white to red.

_"Command fire authorized. Emergency launch engaged. Rockts will fire without countdown. All hands, brace for recoil. Fire one!"_

The engine on the first rocket ignited with a burst of blue-white flames. The cables holding it steady snapped free and the support detached and fell away. The rocket sailed upwards for about fifty feet, then abruptly turned and headed inland towards the location of the holdout force.

_"Fire two!"_

The second rocket performed likewise similar to the first. Then later the third, and finally the fourth.

_"All rockets are away. Travelling hot, straight, and normal. Impact estimated for first rocket, twenty seconds. Add eight seconds for each subsequent missile."_

The Captain's pocketwatch was ticking steady. He turned to the crewman next to him, confident.

"Up periscope. I want to see what kind of impact this thing makes."

There was a low humming as the observation periscope rose from its housing and made its way to what the crew called 'O Deck'. The Captain flipped down the arms of the scope and turned it, peering through the scope at the same time towards the target. The ticking of his watch, normally near silent and unheard, was now echoing in his ears as it often did whenever he fired a torpedo. It was the only sound that reached him as he counted down the seconds.

Ten...

Nine...

Eight...

Seven...

Six...

Five...

Four...

Three...

Two...

One...

"Zero!"

As the Captain said that, the first rocket struck the fortress on Papylov Island, one of the small islands south of mainland Tellanos. Though the mainland had fallen, the island garrisons continued to resist. Many of them fighting to the death for their homeland.

And though Mechanos never admitted it, the Rotarian Army was paying for every inch of these islands with blood. More blood than the weaklings back home would have been able to stand. It seemed that for every one Tellanian soldier killed, the Tellanians would kill sixty Rotarians. Plus, the Tellanians had taken a page from the playbook of the Heavy Combat Corps and had rigged suicide bombs to their belts. These belts held grenades but also were lined with enough E6 explosive to put a six foot hole in the ground. If there was any chance or danger that a soldier would be captured, he was to pull the fuse on the belt and run into the enemy and kill as many of them as he possibly could.

It was the same way with the Special Weapons Division Units. Ships and subs had scuttling charges, tanks had self-destruct charges, planes had crash charges, and the HCC had grenade belts.

The _Gigantic_ was no exeption.

The rockets seemed to hit the fortress one after another, pulvarizing the walls and anyone or anything inside or near them. The way was clear for the Rotarian forces to storm the fort and finish the job the rockets had started. The Captain smiled as the Rotarian flag was hoisted in place of the Federation's flag and came away from the scope.

"Down scope. Hand me the intercom. Attention, all crew. Out of four rockets launched, all four have struck their target. Our congradulations to Lieutenant Rödder of the Rocket Control Center, and to Major Illya of the Special Weapons Corps. Our weapons are now to be calibrated for our attack on Peninsula City. Return the ship to previous course and speed. We've had our fun for today."

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(_RNV Leviathan_, twenty-six miles outside Peninsula City)

Josh had been going over the letter he'd recieved from his parents about Bertram. James had been thoroughly shocked by his youngest son's actions and Lysa was horrified that Bertram would have done such a thing. Bertram had not spoken a word since being relieved of duty and confined to the barracks. He ate and drank alone, kept the door locked, and wouldn't even unlock it for Josh. Dieter was on the bridge with him and he decided to ask the veteran pilot for his advice. Dieter sighed and thought back to the last days of the Incursion, when he was under Gerald's command.

"I remember in the last days, one of our wingmen, a young hotshot pilot who had made a name performing acrobatics for star-struck crowds, had gone after a man who had bailed out but was stopped by Gerald's intervention. Once we were on the ground, the pilot thought he'd take a punch at Gerald for screwing up his shot. One glare from Gerald stopped that and he called us to attention. I still remember his words in my ears as clearly as the day he said them."

_'You are a fighter pilot. First. Last. Always. If I ever hear of any of you shooting a man in his parachute, I'll kill you myself!'_

"To say that he put the fear of God into the nuggets who'd been assigned to us was an understatement. He taught us to go after planes, not people. That there was a code of honor, of ethics, when fighting in the skies. Any man can take a life but when he is killed, the enemy with breathe a sigh of relief, forget him, and move on. But a pilot who never murders, who goes into battle and fights with courage, honor, and integrity, _**that**_pilot will **never** be forgotten and shall live on in history. Being remembered as a hero by both friend and foe, a man who will inspire countless generations who in turn will also inspire and amaze. A story that will become a tale, a tale that shall become a legend, and a legend that shall endure long after the man in question has turned to dust and taken his story with him."

Dieter stepped over to the window and sighed wistfully.

"To this day, people in Tellanos still talk of our squadron. We started out as simple escorts but became the greatest aces of the Incursion. We were so well known that the enemy tried to demoralize us by claiming us shot down several times. Gerald finally put an end to that when he had us paint our planes in different colors so that we would stand out. Whenever our troops or our bombers caught sight of his blood red plane, they rejoiced and the enemy cowered in their boots and trenches. He was the more..._noticable_ of our squadron but we all had our unique planes. Mine for instance was repainted white with red and blue bars on the wings and tail and Jyne..." Dieter burst into a fit of laughter that got the attention of the others until he finally calmed down.

"Jyne, he got the idea to paint his plane to look like a kilt worn by those Highlanders in Syllia. Imagine, if you will, how rediculous a biplane painted red, green, black and gold in plaid pattern looks. Everyone in the squadron ribbed him for it but it...it was all in good fun." Dieter chuckled some more and then wiped a tear from his eye.

"They called us the 'Flying Circus' because of our planes but also because of the acrobatics and maneuvers we pulled while we fought. Gerald once actually flew in between the towers of the Retorinc Council Office and flew near vertically up a clock tower. Me, I buzzed a battleship, flying right between the forward bridge and the first smokestack. Another barnstormed one that had been shot through the funnel and flew through the hole. From that day on he was known as 'Old Smoky' to us." Dieter then sighed and looked back at Josh.

"As for what to do with Bertram, I cannot say. The pilot in me says he mistook skill for luck but then again I've fought him before and we both once duelled each other to a draw. They say that if a squadron is fortunate enough not to suffer casualties that they are 'immortal'. This reputation makes it to both the squadron and the foe alike and the enemy becomes determined to destroy that belief while the squadron either becomes overconfidant or more careful." He paused as more of the wing joined to listen.

"Bertram was prepared that someday he might die as he was shot down before but...he was not prepared to lose a wingman, someone he was close to, knew for a very long time. If he has become what I think he's become, the only option would be to dismiss him from the RAF." This brought glares from the group and Dieter quickly amended his words.

"Although, there is a chance that he may snap out of it. Shrinks call it 'Avengement Disorder' where the pilot blames himself for the loss of his comrade and cannot rest until either he breaks, or he has annihilated those responsible for the loss." Josh nodded at this, having heard of such a thing before.

"Sometimes the grief is so overpowering, the pilot sinks into a depression afterwards because he knows that he could kill the enemy a thousand times over but in the end dead is dead and there is no reviving a slain friend. He just kills the enemy to stop the pain. For him, King and Country mean next to nothing anymore. Put him in a fight, you'll either have a powerful comrade or a loose cannon. It depends on who the enemy is." Voss came forward and spoke to Josh.

"He also has a handicap. You know what I speak of. That rage you felt as you tore that battlecruiser apart yet you showed restraint at the last moment. Bertram, his sorrow and anger are so powerful he ignores his humanity and embraces the feral emotions of the dragon inside him. Very seldom does he ever shift and when he does he sticks to shadows. I've seen it in griffons too. Sometimes you'll have one that's a little different, he or she doesn't have the same abilities of the others or shows a disinterest in something. That puts him off learning about his species and makes them different mentally as well as physically." Josh moved to speak but Voss stopped him.

"You said that every time he shifted he was mocked, laughed at, scorned, and humiliated, right? I've heard of people who were ridiculed so much because of the way they talked they actually stopped talking and became mute. What if the same is true for Bertram? What if, per say, he actually _can_ use his wings but for some unknown reason, he still believes he can't?" Josh suddenly went wide eyed.

"That's impossible. His wing joints are fused, a result of the Convexity forces used when Malefor captured our mother during the Dalon Conflict. Ever since he first shifted all he's been able to do is rustle his wings, never fully extend them. A-Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Voss nodded.

"Indeed. It's quite possible that his psychological fears have been keeping him grounded. His wing joints may have been slow to develop but it's possible that over time they may have slackened or even opened up entirely. The best way to counter fear or anger is with joy or perhaps a sense of purpose. He has to have reasons other than revenge to continue fighting. Perhaps thoughts of Lady Flaire or...hmm...what do dragons do to inspire their young to fly?" Josh chuckled dryly.

"We shove our young off cliffs..." Josh then caught himself as he saw Anne's expression and amended himself.

"Well, _normal_ dragons do. I learned how to fly by accident when I fell from the top floor in the library. George on the other hand, as well as Thera, was coached into the air by our grandfather Voltaris. Is it the same with griffons?" Voss nodded.

"Aye. The young are given the chance to flap on their own before the adult shoves them either out of the nest or off a _very_ high ledge." Josh grimaced as he thought of something.

"He isn't going to shift willingly, much less try to move his wings. I try to do that, he'll probably fight me every step of the way." Wolff came forward, his eyes glowing.

"Well then, if he fights you, fight back. All things that need to be done are never easy. The hardest thing is to make sure he doesn't go too far into his depression..."

At that moment, the radar officer paled and turned in his seat.

"Captain! The enemy knows we're here! Enemy aircraft and small support ships inbound on several torpedo runs! This time these torpedo bombers have an escort!"

Dieter ran to the radar station and gasped when he saw the formation.

"That formation is called the 'Shield'. Fighters gather around the bombers in front, beside, behind, below and above. They can break off and engage yet still keep the bombers safe. There's only one man alive I know who can pull this formation off perfectly." Josh looked to him.

"Who?"

"Captain Hans Kronan, he was one of the first students I taught after the Incursion. He, Marks, Wolff, Voss, and Kiln were in the same flight class I taught. Unlike the others however, Kronan was naturally gifted. He graduated first in the class, was awarded the rank of Captain upon graduating, and also became an ace within the first few days of the war. He's the only pupil of mine I was not allowed to have as a squadron member. Because of his skills, command thought it a waste to assign him to me and instead gave him command of a group of underperforming recruits. The 11th Air Group is, besides my squadron, one of the best units in the RAAF. These men are all veterans trained by the best of my students, a man to whom I taught everything I know about aerial dogfighting, bomber escort and protection, and anti-ship combat."

At that moment, the radio crackled and a voice came through that no one but Dieter, Voss, and Wolff recognized.

_"Mentor, are you there? If so, please answer. No one else knows I'm monitering the Syllian frequency. It's just you and me."_ Dieter walked to the radio.

"I'm here Hans. I take it this won't be a civil chat about old times." There was laughter.

_"No, I'm afraid not. Likely you've already detected us, so what's the point of remaining quiet? I know that you will take off and face us to try and get to the bombers before they're within range of the fleet. What I want to know is your reason. Why did you leave Rotiart? Are you the least bit aware of what has happened since your defection became public knowledge?"_ Dieter paled, he'd known there would be repurcussions, but then again...

"What has happened?"

_"Mechanos may be seemingly in control, but the people saw you as a hero, fighting for what was right. Mechanos first tried to say that you were dead and that this was a traitor bandying about your name. Then he said that you had tried to assassinate him and that you were a traitor. The...the families of those who knew you and spoke up for you have been arrested and sent to internment camps all along the Onyx Mountains. Those who resist, and there have been many, are shot without question or preamble. The nation may be whole on the surface, but your defection has cracked the underbelly of the nation. There have been riots, incidents, mass panics, open rebellion. Some soldiers have even mutinied against orders saying that they are dishonorable or unethical. Sir please, tell me why."_ Dieter sighed.

"I knew I'd have to explain myself but I didn't think you'd be my first audience. The fact is, Mechanos is insane. He's using technology to try and reestablish the old Empire, a nation that, though the history books say was brought down by Praetoria, it was actually brought down from the inside by people fed up with fighting wars they did not want, and dying for something they didn't believe was just or honorable. He's fighting for something but it isn't Rotiart. I...I don't know why he wants all out war. But if he crushes all who stand a chance against him, more will fall, more death will follow until this world is consumed by darkness. Like you yourself often said, 'Evil triumphs when good men do nothing'." He took a moment and then spoke again.

"That's when I decided. When I saw the after effects of that bombs dropped on Lavonshire, when I heard the bomber crew I escorted to the city railing off the targets they had hit and the projected casualties, when Mechanos pinned that damned medal on my chest and called me 'Hero'. What kind of hero ignores the kind of devastation that I witnessed? What kind of a man can condone the deaths of several hundred thousand, if not million, men, women, and children? If I did nothing, who is to say that my very own family might not have been next? What's stopping Mechanos from labelling a city in Rotiart like Gotha a 'rogue element' and sending Marks and his Butchers to terrorize it or, Heaven forbid, one of those bombers that carries the Ragnarok bombs?" Dieter stopped but heard nothing and then, in a desperate act.

"Hans...what would you have done in my place?"

...

...

...

_"I'd have found another way. A way that didn't involve getting my family and the families of those who I taught, flew, and fought with arrested, branded as insurrectionists, and thrown into some godforsaken camp where they only have thin plywood houses to keep out the cold, one meal a day, and only a bucket to shit in. You said, each man has his reasons and yours are good ones, Mentor. But they are extreme, as if you have no hope that our homeland can still be saved. It...It pains me to go against you, but I am a soldier. And a soldier does their duty. Farewell, while you've been talking to me, I have increased speed and have guided the torpedo bombers to the extreme maximum range of their torpedoes."_ Dieter cursed as the radio went dead, then smiled grimly.

"Fell for my own tactic...I told you I taught him everything I knew." Josh turned to Anne.

"Sound battlestations, get the gunners to their posts, alert the fighters to man their planes and also start evasive maneuvers to avoid those torpedoes." Josh turned to Dieter.

"Bertram's still in his quarters. Should I let him fight or keep him out of it?" Dieter shrugged.

"I don't know. Sometimes it's best to let him do what he wants to do. Let him vent against foes who are not with the 666th. Work the anger out of his system. Or, instead, have him man an AA gun and act as a defender. Sometimes, defence works better than offense. Still though, if you let him fly, there's a risk he will not show mercy to the men up there. They may be Rotarian, but the men of the 11th Air Group are good men. Something that Rotiart will need many of when this all blows over. " Josh nodded and went about his work as Dieter left to get to his jet.

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Bertram heard the alarm blare. He heard the call to general quarters but for some reason he didn't feel right. Normally, he'd have all but ripped the door off its hinges to get into the air and fight. But now...

_Gazing around, he saw that the last two jets were out of range and he eased back around. As he leveled, he glanced right and saw the tell-tale white parachute that marked Horos as he descended. He growled._

_ This time, it wasn't a simple angry growl. Like Josh had done before him, this growl was pure feral rage._

_ Bertram pushed the jet into a near backbreaking 8G turn and lined up his sights, his crosshairs on the parachute. He was seeing red. He was seeing Ayatane get ripped apart by Kiln and hearing him laugh while he did so. He saw Horos mutter a curse and draw his sidarm and start firing._

_ He lowered the crosshairs over Horos and squeezed the trigger._

...The bullets had all but shredded Horos as he flew past. Of the rounds the doomed man had fired, one ricocheted off the metal nose of the jet and the other had shot through the canopy, nicking Bertram's left ear, and went out the back. There was no blood, yet he couldn't get Horos' face out of his mind. How one minute the man was snarling defiance and the next, he was horrified as the first of several 20mm shells ripped his inards apart. They say that the eyes, heart, and brain function just long enough after death for one lasting, cohesive thought.

...What was Horos' last thought as he saw the lower half of his body fall away, leaving what was left of his diaphragm exposed to the cold air at sixteen thousand feet, his heart beating its last, his lungs expanding and contracting a few more times?

Then again, what meant the last thoughts of a dead man to the one who had killed him? Bertram had hunted before in dragon form. He reveled in it. The thrill of the hunt, the chase, the kill. All of it satisfied his predatory instinct. He admitted it to himself that he enjoyed flying because of what he would never be able to do. Flying completed him. Made him what he was inside, the ultimate creature, a dragon able to inspire many or make them cower.

If he wanted to, he could hijack a plane, fly to Rotiart, 'drop in' on Mechanos, and just as easily as his brother had ripped apart a ship of iron, he could rip apart a man of flesh...show the Rotarians what fools they had been to challenge a nation in which dragons called their home. Syllia was _his_ nation, it's people _his_ subjects. He would not condone such a trespass, he would _not_ allow any more death and destruction at the hands of these vermin.

...

...

Bertram was interupted by the door opening. There stood his older brother, looking both concerned and frightened. His mind registered the look, his senses gave voice to the fear that eminated from him.

_(That's the human side of him...weak...fearful...easily cowed...)_

Then Josh straightened himself, all fear gone, and came forward.

"I had thought about allowing you to participate in the battle. No one from the 666th is there but we are under threat and Peninsula City is still threatened even though we haven't seen or heard a super sub approaching the city. You have been silent all this time and yet, all of a sudden, you start ranting and raving like a lunatic." Bertram snapped his eyes up in horror.

"I...I was saying all that?" Josh nodded his head.

"I was outside with the men guarding you all the while. I have to admit, these men are seasoned veterans yet they had to run to the portholes and hurl. Tell me, do you really want to do anything to avenge Ayatane? Are you willing to do anything, including perhaps corrupting your soul, destroying who you are, and hurting us, _**ALL**_ of us, just for a fleeting moment of peace? What would Dad say? What would Mom say? Thera? George? Ignitus? What would Flaire say if she could see you now? See what you've become?" Bertram growled at his brother and rose.

"What the hell do _**YOU**_ care? You're betrothed to a human woman! You're a dragon pretending to be human just like me, just like George, Mom, and Dad! Why are you allowing yourself to be restrained like this?! Together, you and I could go and end this threat once and for all!" Josh growled, his temper rising.

"And then what? Raze Rotiart to the ground so that it can never rise again? Then what? Revenge on Tellanos for all those years of depredations and wickedness against us? Will you go so far as to eliminate every single threat that eventually you yourself will turn upon your own people?! There is a reason we shapeshifters exist. That is to help guide both races to peace." Bertram growled.

"Peace is an illusion. There is only strength. The stronger you are, the less likely you are to be attacked because those who oppose you will _fear_ you!"

"So will the people you're trying to protect! Fear is a double-edged sword Bertram! It may hurt your foes but it can also hurt you! If you give people reason enough to fear you, they will rise up and try to kill you!"

"Then I will crush them, wholeheartedly and mercilessly!"

"Then you are no better than Mechanos and his Butchers!"

"Better that than a simpering weakling who only wants what is impossible! Darkness is everywhere, Joshua. There is no denying that. This war may end but others will start! It is an endless cycle from which nothing is gained but everything is lost! You try your best to think of every possible solution, to think of every outcome, to plan for every eventuality but you can't! You can't save everyone! You try to save one person and that person's place another is taken! **There is no end! **Politicians use the term '_peace_' but it is merely an interlude between two wars. I mean to actually make the term mean what is says!"Josh nodded as Bertram said that. He could see that tears had started to form as he got angrier.

"You're right. You can't save everyone. You are Bertram de Launces, ace pilot for the Royal Air Force. You are not a monster, you are not weak, you are not incapable. You can do **anything** you put your mind to. There will be other wars, that's simple human nature. But we can do our best to end _this_ war." Bertram gazed at his brother, a moment of clarity in his eyes.

"You're right, brother...We _can_ end this war..." Then the clarity faded, giving Josh only a moment's notice before Bertram bumrushed right by him, knocking him into the hatch and making him see stars. As he rose, he heard Bertram calling out.

"Better yet, _I_ can end this war, right now! All I have to do is head for Rotiart, and kill any Rotarian soldiers who get in my way!" Josh paled in sudden realization.

"Oh no...he's lost it!"

Jumping up and shouting for the MPs, Josh took off up the hatch to the flight deck after his brother.

On the flight deck, alarms were blaring as Josh rose and then gazed at Bertram calmly walking towards the side of the ship, shifting to dragon form. Josh stopped the MPs and ran after him, shifting as he went.

Bertram stopped at the edge of the deck, overlooking the sea with Peninsula City in the distance. Josh stopped behind him, fully shifted.

"What are you going to do brother? You can't swim as well as I can in that form and you can't fly, so what are you going to do? There is a way to end the war but it takes time. We cannot simply march up to Mechanos and tell him to end the war." Bertram made an odd noise, a cross between a growl and harrumph.

"You are afraid. Afraid of what Mechanos could do, of what his forces could do, _**if**_ they caught me...That fear...is what makes you weak; what has made _**ME**_ weak...NO longer. Fear is the chain that has kept me grounded. I no longer fear what may come, and as such, my chains are broken. **I**. **Am**. _**Free**_."

To Josh's amazement, Bertram started unfurling his wings, the joints creaking and groaning so loudly he thought they would break and snap him back to reality. Then, with a flourish, Bertram flared his wings as far as they could go and then leapt from the ship. Josh, panicked, ran to the side only for Bertram to sail straight up past him, roaring triumphantly. Josh momentarily felt glad for his brother until he saw him turn west.

Towards Rotiart.

Cursing, Josh leapt into a takeoff and followed Bertram. The words Wolff said coming back to him.

_(Sometimes, you have to fight them to make yourself heard...)_

Then, he saw water starting to whitecap in the distance, out of range of all the ships except for the battlecruisers and the battleship, came a conning tower and the profile of the largest submarine he had ever seen. It was easily longer than the _Leviathan_ and had a strange structure running along the midlength of the deck. He then saw hatches open and strange looking weapons rise from within the vessel. Realization hit him like a hammer blow.

"The _Gigantic_...and we're flying right towards it..."

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To be continued...

Next Chapter: Brother Against Brother


	38. Brother Against Brother

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 37: Brother Against Brother

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Joshua angled his wings and fought the air currents to try and catch up with his brother. Though Bertram was inexperienced on the wing, he was smaller than his brother and thus faster. Plus, the fact that his wingspan was absolutely incredible. Had he been at a higher altitude, a mere glance would have made people on the ground think he was an airplane. The fact that all his life his wings had been tucked at his sides had only added to the appearance that his wings were stunted.

He spared a glance towards the _Gigantic_ which had finished surfacing and was now readying its weapons. He was amazed to see armor plates lifting up and revealing not only an enclosed room, probably for observing, but also revealing turrets that slid forward to ready their cannons. The enemy patrol boats below had aborted their runs and instead had retreated to the side of the _Gigantic_ and began firing their anti-air weaponry upwards at both him and his brother.

Bertram, oblivious to the AA fire directed at him continued his westward course. It wasn't until he had a flak shell burst several feet above him that he finally growled and then looked down at the patrol boats. Then he decided they weren't worth the effort and corrected his course to simply avoid them. This turn allowed Josh to catch up to him.

"Bertram! Bertram! Grr..._BERTRAM!_ I **know** you can hear me! Change course _**now**_ and return to the carrier!" Bertram acted like he didn't hear him but he could see an annoyed tick at the end of his tail. This was Bertram's tell. Whenever he was a child, and got mad, or caught in a lie, his tail tip would start twitching. In human form, he was impossible to read but in dragon form he was akin to an open book.

A right twitch meant he heard but was intentionally ignoring you, a downward twitch meant he was lying, and left twitch meant he was thinking of something else and an upwards twitch...well...if the tail twitched upwards, that meant Bertram had reached the end of his rope and was about to fly off the handle.

Josh closed with his brother, watching his tail tip for a tell of what he intended to do. So far it was twitching right. Then suddenly, it twitched up and Josh prepared to go on the defensive. Bertram twisted in midair, eyed wide and glowing fiercely as he used his forward momentus to fly at his brother.

Josh remembered one time when he had been in an accident when he was at the Academy. He had broken four ribs as well as his right arm. The pain had been excruciating.

Being speared mid-air by his own brother hurt three times worse and involuntarily made Josh gasp as the air was forced from his lungs.

The two brothers were a tangle of claws, wings, tails and fangs as they fell until Josh finally managed to disengage and counterattack. He didn't intend for his attacks to draw blood but in the spur of the moment he struck without restraint and felt his right forearm caught Bertram on the left shoulder, splitting the scales and carving grooves that started bleeding. Bertram roared in pain and retaliated by trying to bite at his brother's neck. Josh ducked and twisted to avoid the bite and swung his long tail around like a whip and tried to wrap it around Bertram's neck.

It was his hope that if he could cut off blood circulation, he could force his brother into unconsiousness and thus make him easier to carry back to the carrier.

That was not the case.

Bertram surprised Josh by letting go, falling, then with a strong wingbeat, brought his maw up and bit down on Josh's tail _hard_. He grimaced at the pain but then used his hind leg to kick Bertram off his tail. Gazing back, he was shocked to see a fang still lodged in his tail and then looked back to his brother.

"Bertram! Get a hold of yourself! Do you realize what you're doing?!"

Bertram didn't answer but instead he snarled angrily and launched himself at Josh again who dodged the attack and came back around and slammed Bertram from behind. He watched as his brother righted himself, then took off towards Peninsula City. Not skipping a beat, Josh changed course and followed. A siren made him look back and saw the first of the rockets launch from the submarine and start angling towards the city.

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Dieter had just gone up when he saw Bertram turn and start attacking Josh and he couldn't help but worry. Most stories he'd heard about dragons fighting one another either ended with one or both of them gravely wounded or even killed. Then moments later, he heard the radio come on with Anne's voice.

_"This is Commander Anne Roberts, Executive Officer of the _Leviathan_. In the Captain's absense, I am in command. Our priority is the enemy submarine. Major Muntz, while the bombers are readying on the deck, you and your fighters clear the skies so that they can attack unhindered. Our own fighters will be in a CAP over the fleet to prevent any aerial torpedo attacks."_

"Black Knight copies. Alright First Wing, we're going after the 11th. Weapons hot."

Dieter saw the enemy formation coming in. The shield formation was a tough formation to break through but not impossible. He knew how bomber crews were trained and how Captain Kronan would react to the attack. He keyed the radio.

"All fighters, we need to split the formation. The only way to break a shield is to go around and come at it from all sides. The enemy escort will stress themselves to intercept everyone and the bombers will panic and seperate but try to continue their run. SOP for bombing runs is ignore the attackers, push the raid." Suddenly, the radio came on with a panicked alert.

_"This is the destroyer escort, _RNV Clipper_, the enemy submarine is launching rockets! Looks to be four airborne! They're on a course for the city!"_

"Black Knight to Bishop and Rook, break formation with me and we'll go after the rockets. Snowman, you're in command of the formation. Remember, come at the shield from all sides and the defense will splinter."

_"Snowman copies wingleader. Good hunting!"_

Dieter pushed the throttle of the jet as far forward as it would go and felt the now familiar lurch as the speedometer shot past the 400mph mark and then steadied near the 540 mark.

"Rook, Bishop, there's a chance these rockets might detonate when fired upon, so for safety's sake, lead them from a safe distance and make sure you don't get caught in any potential blast radius."

_"Bishop copies. Same goes to you boss."_

_"Rook here, don't you try that shit you pulled when you were fighting Bertram in Concurrent Skies."_

Dieter chuckled then gazed as the closest rocket came into the maximum range of his cannons. The rocket looked to be going about the same speed as the jet. He eased the rudder into a right yaw that brought the rocket in line with the extreme edge of the target sight. He clicked the safety off of the cannons.

_(Please don't let this blow up in my face...Josh...I hope you can bring Bertram back before this gets any worse...)_

He fired the cannons.

The rounds sped true and impacted the rocket all along the length of the fuselage. To Dieter's surprise, he saw sparks start flying from out of a broken panel and saw a mysterious object inside spinning wildly as if trying to steady and correct itself. He fired another burst into the rocket, this time striking the object in the body as well as the engine.

The gyroscope, damaged beyond all hope of repair, was shattered by that last blast, destroying the rocket's stability. The engines, also damaged, gave one last burst of blue-white flames, sputtered, then died. The rocket, now without guidance or propulsion, fell from the sky like a large bomb, impacting the sea below and detonating with the force.

Dieter spared a glance and saw Wolff and Voss down their targets as well and then gazed around for the last rocket. He saw it and paled. As he and his group had been engaging the other three, the fourth one slipped by and was now almost on top of the city. More frightening, Josh and Bertram's brawl had taken them to the edge of the city.

Right in the path of the rocket.

Another siren blared and Dieter looked back to see the rockets start firing off like crazy from the sub.

"Oh shit..."

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Josh had managed time and again to catch up with Bertram only to have him slip through his claws and go out of range again. He strained his wings, pushing himself forward through the air with all his might and was almost on top of his brother when he heard a roaring and looked down under him and went absolutely wide-eyed. Hurriedly, he flapped upwards and dodged just in the nick of time as a rocket from the sub came roaring past making a bee-line for the city.

Josh had just enough time to shout a warning to Bertram when the rocket sailed over the wall, much to the horror of the defenders who had been manning their positions, and then dove and came down almost vertically into the old part of the city.

Time slowed to a crawl as Josh looked on, a sick sense of dread and horror growing in his chest, also a feeling of what was going to happen.

What kind of weapon was that?

What kind of explosive was it armed with?

How much damage will it do to the city?

How many people will it kill?

Time returned to normal and then a loud explosion rattled Josh's teeth. Then he gasped at the location of the impact: Dalon's Tower.

After the Dalon Conflict, the people who had been outside the city when it was gassed, moved back in, buried their dead, and then debated as to what to do with the eyesores that had been Dalon's factories, his facilities, and lastly his tower. The factories had been torn down and replaced with other, less poluting industrial buildings, the facilities and offices became commercial buildings and Dalon's Tower had been repurposed into a large, free-standing, residential tower.

Sirens in the city blared as fires burned where the rocket had impacted near the base of the tower. The large double doors had been blown off their hinges and people were running, screaming, from the tower. From his vantage point, Josh could see the cracks that ran along the streets and also saw a large fissure near the bottom of the structure.

Bertram had also stopped and watched the rocket impact the ground and growled angrily.

"Do you see brother?! Why are you trying to stop me from ending a war in which the enemy can do this to our people and cities without consequence or remorse?!" Josh thought the answer was obvious and roared back at him.

"Because your plan is to abandon the war where you are needed and go off to your doom! Do you honestly think you can make it across occupied Schildhaven, Tellanos, and then fly across Rotiart with all the griffon eeries between the border and Shadowfell, and _then_ land in the middle of the city, fight your way through the entire city, then the capital building, and then confront Mechanos? Brother, have you also forgotten about the bounty that was placed on your head? You'd only be flying to your death!"

Bertram was about to reply when a rumbling noise was heard. The two brother stopped long enough to glance at the tower and saw the foundation break open with an ear-splitting _CRACK!_ and then the tower started shifting. It was almost like watching a tree fall.

The foundation continued cracking and the weight of the building pushed it down and as it became unbalanced, or listed, more and more to the side until finally there was nothing stopping it. Bertram's mind snapped back to clarity as the tower fell and he hastily eyed the streets and saw people running in all directions. He watched along with his brother, transfixed in horror, as the tower ruptured mid-fall, raining metalwork, masonry, glass, furniture, and worse of all people, on to the streets below.

As the tower came down, it left a trail of destruction stretching from the foundation across the western part of the old city, flattening a section of the outer wall, with the top eleven floors breaking from the tower and crashing into the sea at the bottom of the cliff. Bertram then turned and started west again, only to be intercepted by Josh.

"After witnessing that, you're going to abandon those who have been hurt to go off on a suicidal mission? What are you trying to do?"

Bertram abruptly turned and came at Josh again, this time, by the look in his eyes, he had decided to leave his humanity behind. He tackled Josh, bringing him down, growling as they fell.

"What do I care about people too weak to protect themselves? I have no tie to them, no one _I_ care about is down there. Why should I put everything on hold to protect _them_?"

Josh, hearing this, did a midair reversal on Bertram just as they came down against an intact section of the wall, Bertram's body leaving a large impression in the stonework. Josh eyed his brother who glared back at him.

"You want to know why you should protect them? How about this, you are Bertram de Launces, the youngest son of James de Launces, King of Syllia. You are a Prince of Syllia, you are a Major in the Syllian Royal Air Force, it is your _duty_ to protect them! They are your people! Every one of them would lay down their lives for you if you were in danger! Tell me brother, what exactly did Flaire see in you to make her come all the way from Avalon to be with you? I sure as hell know it wasn't this side of you!"

Bertram struggled and tried to avoid his brother's gaze but Josh kept him locked on him.

"Tell me...what are you afraid of most?" Bertram eyed his brother but then looked past him in shock as more rockets came barreling towards the city. Josh looked back just in time to see them and curse before two rockets struck the wall and the section they were at fell inwards onto a part of the city.

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(moments later)

Bertram came to with a large, heavy weight on his chest. He blinked his eyes to clear the dust from them and found he was looking at part of a ruined building. The stench of fear, the sound of sorrow, and wails of the bereaved pierced his senses. His eyes cleared and he saw, near the edge of the building that had broken his fall, he saw a woman cradling a small child in her arms, wailing to the skies and pleading for anyone to help her. His eyesight narrowed on the child and he saw that, no matter how much help arrived, it would do no good.

A piece of glass from the tower had pierced the child's chest like a spear, likely cutting the heart in half. His nose was suddenly filled with the scent of _human_ blood. Looking about, he saw people lying in the rubble of the wall and the building that the wall had come down on. To his growing horror, he realized that people had tried to take shelter in the building from the collapse of the tower and had been unable to flee when the wall came down, crushing those unlucky enough to be directly under the section.

All around him, people were crying out in pain, trying to tend to the wounded, and trying to save as many as possible. He tried to breathe but then felt the weight again. Turning his head, he came snout to snout with his brother, unconscious, resting atop him, with a nasty wound to his head and his forelegs. Bertram suddenly remembered Josh seeing the rockets and hugged himself closer as to shield him from the worst of the blast and the debris.

Josh had intentionally put himself in harm's way to protect him...

Tears stung Bertram's eyes as he tried to shift his weight and get out from under his brother's form.

_(You wanted to know my fears brother? I was afraid that the longer the war went on, the greater the risk that I may lose you, George, Mom, Dad, or even Flaire...)_ Bertram bowed his head and cried freely.

"Curse me for a fool!" He shouted, drawing the attention of the people with him. Then, he felt a hand on his foreleg and saw a young child standing with him. The parents of the child eyed him with wariness and fear. He gazed at the child who looked on with fear in his eyes.

" ...W-Why are they doing this? Why did my big brother have to die?" Bertram was taken aback and gazed again at the parents to see them craddling the still form of a young boy, maybe nine...ten years old. Bertram looked back to his brother and sighed, finally coming to his senses. He turned to the child, fear and sorrow replaced by determination.

"I don't know child...But I intend to put a stop to them."

Bertram rose, and breathed deeply and looked at his brother and then looked about.

"Can anyone here take care of my brother?" An elderly man came forward.

"I can. I was a dragon surgeon in the Dracocorps in my younger years. May I ask his name and rank?" Bertram nodded.

"Captain Joshua de Launces." The man's jaw dropped as Bertram took off and angled himself towards the submarine, just as the siren that heralded the rockets firing wailed, and Bertram saw six rockets take off and fly towards the city.

_(You were right Josh...I know where I'm needed. Right here.)_

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Dieter had watched several rockets impact the city and was angling to try and attack the sub before it could launch again when suddenly his student, Captain Hans Kronan, dove from out of the sun firing wildly. He gazed at his ammo counter and groaned that he only had a few dozen rounds left. He was in no shape to shoot down more rockets or get in a dogfight with his former student. He was simply evading the attacks and trying to keep an eye on the sub below.

Suddenly, the siren blared again and he saw six rockets take off from the sub and aim at the city. He keyed the radio expecting to have to order the rest of the group to attack the rockets and ignore the torpedo bombers but then he saw something almost impossible.

From out of the dust and smoke of the fallen wall, Bertram de Launces rose, eyes burning with anger and he hurled himself that the rockets.

"Attention, all vessels and planes! Captain Joshua de Launces is down! I repeat, Captain de Launces is down! Bertram is up but he's headed towards the rockets!"

_"This is Commander Roberts. Do you see the Captain?"_

"Negative. I lost sight of him when the wall came down and now Bertram has come up. I...I think he's back to normal." Then he saw Bertram do something absolutely crazy and he keyed it again.

"Then again, I _**have**_ been wrong before..."

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Bertram closed with the group of rockets, his mind racing to come up with a way to stop them when suddenly he saw Voss dive and rake a rocket with cannonfire. The attack damaged the stabilizers, knocking the rocket off course and made it plow into another rocket which detonated both in mid-air. He then had an idea. It was crazy but it was all he had.

With a roar, Bertram slammed into the last rocket in the group and started raking it with his claws, easily tearing through the weak plating and damaging the innards of the explosive device. When he was sure he'd done enough damage, he forced himself off the rocket with a leap, sending the weapon tumbling through the air and crashing into the sea.

Using momentum from the rocket, he leapt and landed on the next closest rocket and liekwise rended it to scrap and sent it down to the sea. Then he leapt to the next one and once it was falling, he jumped to the next one. Ahead of him, Wolff took out the last rocket but at the last moment, he heard the guns on Wolff's jet click, meaning he was zeroed.

_(They've exhausted their ammo...There's got to be something I can do to stop that sub but what? It's not like I can fly back to the carrier and return before the city is destroyed, nor can I fly there, pick up a bomb and drop it on the...)_

Had he not been hanging onto a rocket, he would have slapped himself. He didn't need to grab a bomb he was literally hanging onto one right now. All that he needed to do was to change the course, aim the rocket at the sub, and let go.

Simple, right?

Bertram sank his claws into the rocket and started flapping like mad to get the rocket to rise. Yet, as it rose, the fins rotated, returning the rocket to its previous trajectory. Bertram tried again and again it countered his change. Finally he pulled so hard he ripped a panel off revealing the gyroscope. Bertram experimentally tried to change course again and saw the gyro click and return the rocket to course. He smiled, having discovered the source of the accuracy of the weapon and ripped the gyro out and let it fall away.

Without the gyroscope to correct it, the rocket was amazingly easy to maneuver. Well, somewhat easy. Bertram growled and bared his teeth in a snarl as he tried to lift the rocket up and force it to loop around. Slowly but surely the rocket started to turn upwards until it was upside down. A few more flaps and the rocket was now flying straight again.

Only now it was aiming at the submarine.

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The Captain stood dumbfounded on the observation deck as the dragon latched onto the rocket and then had it turning around and coming back at the sub. The XO was with him and saw it also and hastily ran to the PA system.

"All hands, emergency dive! One of our rockets has gone rogue and is coming back towards us!"

Almost as soon as he said the words 'rocket', 'rogue', and 'towards us', the sirens on the sub blared as the hatches that were open started to close and the sound of the vents opening echoed. Instantly, water started flooding the ballast tanks and the sub began to dive. The deck went under just as the last rocket hatch sealed but then, the XO felt a tilt to the ship and realized the bow section was actually rising out of the water. He keyed the PA again, unable to keep the panic out of his voice.

"Alert bow compartments! Your vents are still closed! This is an emergency dive, open the vents immediately!"

_"This is compartment three, we've suffered an electrical short from firing the rockets! We're trying to open the vents manually but it's slow going! Bow compartments one through six are in the dark!"_

A moment later, a cannons volley impacted the water just beyond the sub. The Captain manned the periscope and swore.

"One of the enemy battlecruisers is advancing on our position! We also have destroyers closing on us readying depth charges!" Then the PA system came back on.

_"Bow vents are open! We are diving!"_ The XO turned to the Captain.

"Sir, recommend we shut the O Deck and return to the control center." The Captain nodded.

"Make it so. Also, alert Weapons Officer Illya to prep the Launchers." The Xo turned to him and paled.

"Captain, the Launchers are only hooked up to the Klasse 2 missiles! You are disobeying orders by using them!" The Captain turned as the armor plates came down.

"If we don't do something, we will sink and our forces will fail to hold the flank. If we cannot bombard the city, we will obliterate it. The radiation from all ten Klasse 2 rockets alone will make the city and peninsula unapproachable for decades. Either way, we have secured our flank and our forces can proceed to Royalis unhindered." The XO was still unconvinced.

"Sir, they are untested. There is a chance that..." The Captain rounded.

"I _am_ well aware of the risks! Ready the Launchers once we reach eighty feet!" The XO, unsure, still relayed the orders and alarms filled the sub."

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Bertram cursed as the sub began diving and then decided that, no matter what, he would sink that sub. He pushed the rocket down hard as he could, aiming the rocket at where he believed the deck and rocket chambers were. He released the rocket moments before it impacted the water, his momentum carrying him forward at such speed, he ricocheted off the surface of the water, plowed into one if the enemy patrol boats, capsizing it, and then splashed to a stop.

He didn't hear the rocket explode upon hitting the water, that was a good sign, but still he didn't know if the rocket's engine had stopped upon sinking.

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Inside the submarine, the lights were red. The Captain stood at the charts, his pocketwatch ticking steadily as the crew went about their duties readying the Launchers. He heard the Weapons Officer say something about the Launchers being ready in thirty seconds. The Captain looked down at his watch but then noticed something.

He'd had the watch for forty years, and it had never done this...

The second hand was slowing...

Slowing...

Slowing...

The second and minute hands stopped on the twelve. The time was 2:00 P.M.

Just as he picked the watch up to wind it up again, he heard a dull _thunk_ on the hull outside. He gazed up to see the crew around him frozen in fear.

It was then he realized...

...

...

...he had failed.

He had only a moment to lament his failure when the hatch leading to the rocket chambers was blown off its hinges, and the following fireball incinerated everyone in the room. The gold pocketwatch, dropped from the skeletal hand that held it, hit the floor of the compartment, and burst apart in an explosion of glass, metal, and gears.

The _Gigantic _exploded underwater with such force the collossal submarine was torn in half. The bow half with the remaining rockets exploded and disintegrated underwater, spreading debris and rocket components across the sea floor. Water flowing into the stern half of the sub extinguished the fireball before it could reach the extreme ends of the sub, but that was of little comfort to the crew still alive.

The submarine had a crush depth of nine-hundred feet. It was currently at one-fifty and sinking slowly. The preparations for the Launchers had exhausted what remaining power was left and subsequently the batteries failed, plunging the stern section into darkness.

Before they had surfaced to launch rockets, the sonar operator had done an estimation of the depth of the sea in the area they were firing from.

The depth was one-thousand, five-hundred feet. At the rate the stern section was sinking, the surviving crew would be doomed.

Doomed to eternal darkness...

...the sub would reach crush depth within the hour. Until then, the crew would be driven mad by fear. Every creak, every groan, every noise as the sub descended. The rocket that had sunk them damaged the O Deck, compromising its integrity. At three hundred feet, there was a great sound like someone crushing a tin can. The survivors knew that the O Deck had been crushed.

For a submariner, there was no greater fear.

For a submariner, there could be no worse fate.

For a submariner, this _**was**_ Hell.

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Josh came to surrounded by people who were glad to see him awaken. He hurriedly looked about for his brother and, fearing the worst, leapt up to the wall and looked out to where the submarine had been. He was greeted with a shock.

He saw his brother, clutching a rocket, drop it into the sea, then careen into a PT boat before splashing to a stop. Moments later, the sea heaved and whitecapped as a tremendous explosion came up from the depths, parting the waters with a large fireball. For a moment a rainbow formed in the water as it rained back into the sea. Then, he saw the PT boats encircle where his brother has splashed.

Fearing for him, Josh leapt into the air, beating his wings frantically to reach him before...

...

...

...before the enemy boats...struck their...colors?

The sound of a PA system coming on was the only sound he heard.

_"Attention, Syllian vessels. This is the Patrol Boat _Icarus_, we do hereby surrender and request a ceasefire."_

Josh eased his flight and slowed over the group of boats and saw them helping Bertram out of the water. He looked up and saw the relief in his brother's eyes and then did something absolutely incredible.

Bertram started laughing. Josh hovered above his brother, relief evident on his face. A noise got his attention and he gazed up to see the enemy air cover retreating to the west at full speed. He gazed back down at his brother who was just floating there, belly up, without a care in the world, and smiled.

"So Bertram, still thinking about heading west?" Bertram shook his head.

"Nah, I guess the quickest way to end the war is to make sure our people are safe before we do anything else."

It was then that Josh allowed a smile to crease his muzzle as he too began laughing.

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(Launces)

The Rotarian soldiers marched through the ruins of the Tower, the bastion that had once been the outer fortress that shielded Launces from the west. Now, its ruins were used to trap those captured when the city fell. Work crews worked frantically to keep the ruins from collapsing onto the Grand Central Avenue.

From her small cell, Zafra wondered if her mother and father knew that she had not been able to escape the city, having arrived not two days before the Rotarian forces attacked. She had been caught trying to help the citizens who had been wounded in the attack. She had been made to watch as the Rotarian soldiers lined up the soldiers and civilians she had been tending and executed them. She had then been clapped in irons and sent outside the city to await transport to somewhere in Rotiart.

The soldiers all said that tomorrow would be the day. Zafra made a vow as the sun set, she would not be taken to be used as a hostage in Rotiart. If she got the chance, she would shift, and take as many Rotarian soldiers down as she could before she was slain.

Still, she hoped it wouldn't come to that.

_(Mother...Father...Please...save me...someone...)_

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Next Chapter: A Race Against Time


	39. A Race Against Time

Alright everyone, I'm going to start on the Resistance parts of the story. So...here's hoping I nail it and that my research into the various resistance groups during WW2 pays off. Now then, onto the disclaimer.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 38: A Race Against Time

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George gazed uneasily at the ammunition arrayed before him and he sighed. Amber came up and set some more on the table. Nearby, Caldor lay on a mat with one eye cracked open, regarding George with a thoughtful gaze. Thanks to the efforts of the doctor, he had healed up nicely but was still a little sore. Then, as Miles came in with some more, George sat back in the chair.

"So, if we add in what we were able to scavenge yesterday and today, that means we have roughly one hundred and sixty bullets to divide amongst ourselves. Now then, Caldor, you said that the prisoners were being held in the ruins of the Tower?" Caldor nodded.

"Yeah. With the lack of facilities to restrain POWs, they had to put them somewhere. Plus, I overheard one of the guards bragging about one of the prisoners being really important." George looked to him.

"Did you hear a name?" Caldor thought for a moment and then nodded.

"Yeah, it sounded kinda odd...Za..Zare? No...Zafe? No...Za...Zafra? Yeah, that's it! Zafra!" George paled as he mentioned that name and then turned to Amber and Miles.

"Get the ammunition divided and make sure everyone's ready." Amber looked at George oddly as well as Caldor.

"Um...George? What's wrong?" George turned to Caldor and sighed.

"Zafra is Ignitus and Thera's oldest daughter and my niece. If the enemy know who she is there's a chance they'll use her as a hostage for demands."

Needless to say **THAT** got Caldor's attention and he sighed and lay his head back down.

"Damn...now _I'm_ getting entangled with matters of the royal family..." George heard him and shook his head.

"Caldor...I'm not going to pretend I don't know what's going through your mind but listen. You are you, and right now, I need everyone's help to prevent what will essentially be a nightmare for my family and for the nation. I was only a child when what occured between your father and my sister and brother in law and as far as I'm concerned it was in the past, there's no need for you to compare now to then." Caldor sighed and then nodded.

"Sorry, it's just...I always was afraid growing up that I would be on the receiving end of some sort of retribution...I...I just wanted to live out my life under the radar, not getting in anyone's way, not having anything to do with the de Launces family, just..." George nodded understandingly.

"Just living your life as anonimously as possible, right?" Caldor nodded again. George then thought of something.

"Well there is an old saying that may apply to you: 'Some are born to greatness whilst others have greatness thrust upon them'." Caldor chuckled.

"Well I highly doubt anything about me is great. Though why I'd have greatness thrust upon me is a mystery unto itself." George chuckled.

"Maybe it's just someone up there saying that the time for you to be in the shadows is over. It's time for you to come into the light." Caldor looked George dead in the eyes as if trying to read his emotions before sighing and then looking away.

"Well, whoever it is, they had a damn lousy sense of timing..." George nodded.

"That's usually the case. Now then, are you in or out?" Caldor rose, stretched his wings, back, legs, and neck, making each and every joint crack and pop as he worked the knots out of his body and smiled a toothy smile that, quite honestly, George had never seen him do before.

"I'm in. Besides, with the limited ammunition you have, you'll need a heavy hitter." George nodded and at just that moment, Lee, one of the snipers, came in soaking wet and shaking like a wet dog trying to dry itself.

"Hoss, you ain't going to believe this, but a storm just blew in out of nowhere. It's rainin' cats and dogs out there and I could barely see three feet in front of me." Amber turned to him, worried.

"Any lightning? Hail? High winds?" Lee answered in the negative.

"Nope, nothing but heavy rain." George turned to Caldor, a smile on his face.

"Well Caldor, are you afraid of getting wet?" Caldor immediately caught on to the idea and smiled.

"Not at all. It's lightning I can't stand but if it's just rain, well, I haven't had a good washdown since before the attack...and no that crash landing in the canal doesn't count." George nodded and turned to Amber.

"Let's outfit everyone with rain gear and get moving. With this heavy rain, they'll likely suspend all air patrols which means no risk of airships coming to see what the commotion is about." Amber nodded while Lee then looked about.

"Well, still, that doesn't mean it'll be a walk in the park. We don't have any fully automatic weapons. Only captured pistols and carbines. The Tower may be in ruins but it's still a fortification and will be highly defended." George then nodded.

"Well then, with the Tower in ruins, the rubble will offer us cover as we approach. Plus, if we take our time and eliminate the guards one at a time without any alarms being raised, we shouldn't need automatic weapons. Still, we should have time on our side right?" At that moment, Grant came in, shaking his head.

"Afraid not boss. Either the Rotarians know who they got prisoner or they got a very good guess, they've booted the report all the way to Shadowfell. Mechanos is ordering a high speed helium airship to pick up the prisoners and transport them to Shadowfell immediately. The airship just checked in and it was just passing the border now." George looked at Grant with an curious expression.

"Just how the hell do we have access to Rotarian radio frequencies and they not know it?" Grant chuckled.

"You honestly think all I am is a good marksman boss? I was a radio cryptologist, I know my way around a radio. The Rotarians think their frequencies are indecypherable, yet I just cracked their radio codes wide open. Either they just don't give a shit about their security, or their radio officers are as dumb as a wagon load of bricks and about half as sharp." George nodded and then looked back at Amber.

"Alright, look's like we need to speed things up a bit...Caldor, think you can harass the airship if not bring it down?" Caldor chuckled.

"That depends." George raised an eyebrow.

"On what?" Caldor grinned.

"On how many pieces you'd like the airship to be in when it lands." George groaned at the bad joke while everyone else laughed that he'd fallen for it so easily. He recovered quickly and then nodded.

"As long as it's not in one piece and can't be recovered by the enemy, I'm happy." Caldor nodded then rose and left to intercept the airship. George turned back to Amber and Miles.

"Ready our group, we're taking the Tower."

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(one hour later)

Caldor soared over the outer wall, taking notice of the slap-dash stabilizing efforts to prevent more of the fort from collapsing. There were also metal frames for anti-air guns, cannons, and various other weapons being welded onto platforms to serve as defences since most of the Syllian weapons hadn't survived the battle. His keen eyesight also spotted several spotlights that the soldiers were trying to get started but, much to the chagrin of their leaders, the Tower had yet to be restored to the power grid, leaving all their elecrical equipment, literally, in the dark.

_(Well that's one thing that George and the others don't need to worry over...)_

In the distance, Caldor heard a low rumbling noise in the wind and then sighed.

"So much for no lightning..." He then gazed as a bolt pierced the sky and saw a long oblong shape come through the clouds. He saw the Rotarian crest on the hull of the airship and grinned.

"Oh good, something to rip apart."

If he was an accurate judge of speed and distance, he had roughly thirty minutes to bring down the airship. With any luck, he could disable the radio mast that was mounted to the cabin, and the crash of the airship would draw away some of the guards on the Tower.

_(Better make it count then. One rule for a distraction, make it big, make it flashy, and make it last. Hmm...the lightning might just be the perfect cover...)_

Caldor climbed higher, above the low hanging clouds, above the airship that was slowly but steadily approaching the wall. Then, gathering his strength, he took aim at the radio antenna that protruded from the port side of the command cabin and unleashed a burst of light, powerful enough to be mistaken for a bolt of lightning. The beam struck the antenna at the mounting to the cabin, the explosion was powerful enough to be mistaken for thunder by anyone on the ground.

Caldor wished so much that he could see the looks on the Rotarian crew's faces as the radio mast broke from the mounting and fell away. Deciding to keep up the momentum, he fired another beam, this one sailed towards the tail section, obliterating the control gears linking the rudder and the cabin. He vaguely heard the sound of cables and chains snapping as the altitude and directional controls failed. He then lined up what he intended to be the last shot and planted it dead center of the airship.

To his honest amazement, the stressed skin of the airship flared brightly as it caught fire and then an explosion ripped upwards through the airship, splitting several of the ribs inside the gas chambers open and blasting a huge swath of the burning canvas skin sky high like a flare. He hid in the clouds and wondered what the hell happened. The sound of machinegun rounds going off then made it clear to him.

He had blasted a hole straight through a cargo hold carrying nothing but ammunition for the troops on the wall!

Rounds going off pierced numerous gas envelopes and the fire on the canvas spread to other sections, burning and weakening guide and support wires which popped and ripped free from moorings as the joints failed. To his amazement, the airship actually started sagging in the middle as the frame structure and skeleton. Then, the flames reached the area that, unknown to Caldor, was the fuel tanks for the engines pushing the airship forward as well as a compartment that carried an experimental weapon. An incindiary explosive comprised of aluminum powder and iron oxide: Thermite.

The tail section exploded and broke free of the bow as the thermite and fuel compartments caught, vaporizing the skin around the section, melting the solid steel 'keel' that held the ribs and frame together, as well as sending a flashfire through the hull of the derrigible, killing those near the envelope. The explosive force ripped more of the ribs and support cables apart sending metal debris in all directions as the stern fell, no longer lifted by helium. Though helium isn't flammable, it is still held in flammable envelopes. As each envelope failed, the rush of helium blew the flames outward and caused more of the burning skin to be blown free.

A siren from the wall and a trail of headlights racing towards the airship as the bow section crashed just off the main road heralded the confirmation that his plan had worked. Caldor smiled a weary smile as he felt the exertion of firing such powerful light attacks

_(Alright Resistance, now it's all up to you.)_

His mana exhausted, Caldor didn't return to the safehouse but rather flew a holding pattern above the Tower, watching as the enemy satisfyingly vacated the Tower in a vain hope of finding survivors and then, through the grey palor that cloaked the land, he saw ten shadows creep through the tall grass towards the stairs that led up to the wall.

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The explosion of the airship made George look up involuntarily. The sight of such a large derrigible burning and falling from the sky was something that you just didn't see everyday. Despite himself, George said a quick prayer for the unfortunate souls on board the burning airship. He had once heard his father speak about the things he had witnessed in war and also had heard that fire dragons, above all other dragons, were taught that when they used their fire breath, to end the suffering as quickly as possible.

Few things in George's mind was more frightening than burning alive.

Though the rain was coming down heavily, it would do nothing for the flames. The raincoats worked but George, and the others with him, still got soaked.

As they climbed the steps to the Tower, George found that most of the enemy had abandoned the Tower to rush to aid the airship that had just crash landed outside the city. Those that were left, shared his sentiments on the matter exactly. He heard two of them talking as he neared a corner.

"Did you see that?! The-The _Grafton_, she just..."

"Yeah. Hard to not watch but at the same time I wish I could look away."

"Think we should get down there? I mean...the prisoners aren't going anywhere."

"No way. Trust me kid, you haven't been in combat long enough to experience much. Me? I was there during the sieges on Ursa, Retorinc, and then Chamberlain. I've seen people burn alive and I am in no mood to relive that particular horror. Smelling that smell, men burning alive, made me think of my wife's roast chicken. Put me off of it. I can barely look at a roast chicken anymore."

"Okay I did _not_ need to hear that." The older guard laughed.

"Be glad you got guard duty during an occupation. Nothing happens on guard duty."

"Except an airship being struck down by lightning."

George eased to the corner and saw the guards were away from the cells and watching the search and rescue crews trying to put out fires and dig through white hit metal wreckage. He then felt Miles tap his shoulder and he advanced forward, at the same time drawing the broad combat knife from his coat pocket and creeping up behind the younger soldier. Miles on the other hand drew a wicked looking knife that had a ten inch double-edged blade, a steel spike pommel, and a hand guard that looked like brass knuckles.

At an invisible signal, George came forward and cupped his hand over the young man's mouth and jabbed the knife in between his ribs at the same time Miles did the same thing to the older soldier. The young soldier wheezed and gasped as his lungs collapsed and he gazed right, hoping that the older soldier had somehow dodged the proverbial bullet.

The light from the young man's eyes faded as he saw Miles slit the older soldier's throat and ease his body to the ground. George saw a tear in the young man's eyes and he eased forward.

"I'm sorry. But you are our enemy, and in war, people die." George stabbed the knife into the base of the young soldier's skull, finishing him off quickly. George eyed his right and saw that Miles had likewise finished off the older soldier and then checked him for keys. Finding them, he then turned and unlocked the cell that the men had been in front of. The men and women inside were glad to see them.

"Listen up, I'm Edgar Miles, this here is Nicholas Moore, we're with the Resistance and are here to free you all. Now then, those of you who are in good condition, help carry the wounded to the transports that we have liberated. Are there any other cells? Any prisoners they seperated?" One of the men came up.

"Yes sir, the enemy, they seperated a few of the higher ranking of our group as well as a young woman. They seemed to be excited about her for some reason." George nodded.

"What's your name?"

"Lance Corporal Kevin Vance, sir. Syllian Dragoons." George nodded.

"Ground crew?" Vance nodded.

"Good, we have a dragon on our side who could use an experienced partner." Vance beamed happily and then nodded.

"Understood sir!" George then looked to the side.

"The enemy took them down there?" Vance nodded.

"They were going to await an airship to take them to Shadowfell. I would assume that their ride was that explosion we were just treated to?" George nodded, and then he Miles, Amber, and Lee went down the stairs near the cell towards the locked rooms.

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The explosion had been loud enough to knock the soldier above her off his cot. The next thing she was aware of was that their guards were frantic. Some left with a man who appeared to be a much higher ranking officer, other kept near the cells, expressions of worry and fear on their faces. Two men spoke in hushed whispers that no normal human could hear.

Thankfully, Zafra was no normal human.

"I can't believe it. How the hell does a helium-filled zeppelin just explode like that?"

"How do you think? It's no secret that we're running low on ammunition. We used too much of it taking the damn city. Now we've been left with only a few light tanks and captured Syllian wrecks to patrol the city. The airship was supposed to be carrying ammunition as well as new types of demolition charges so that we can blast our way into whatever the hell the higher ups wanted to get at under the Industrial Sector. All they need is confirmation from one of these guys who was supposed to be the military commander of the city guard in that part of the city."

"And how the hell do you know that?"

"Heh, not my fault that the Colonel can't hold his liquor or that I just happened to be in the lou when he came in puking his guts out and reviewing operational orders to try and calm himself." Zafra's eyes narrowed as she began thinking.

_(The Industrial Sector? What in the world could the Rotarians possibly want there?)_

She heard the soldier on the floor groan and helped him to his feet. She then started whispering.

"Hey, what was your assignment?" The soldier looked to her as if she was crazy.

"That's classified, ma'am. Just who the heck are you anyway? You're not a soldier."

"You're right, I'm not. However, I AM the granddaughter of James de Launces." The soldier eyed her crossly.

"Yeah, right. If you're the granddaughter of His Majesty, I'm Prime Minister Statton."

At that moment, there was a loud crash, causing the guards to jump and draw their weapons. Then gunshots rang out and the guards dropped to the floor, each with two holes in their chests. As the soldier turned and ran to the bars, he she heard voices closing.

"Dammit! I didn't expect the door to do _that_."

"Well Miles, the Tower _did_ suffer a direct hit from an artillery shell. It's natural that some of the doors would be misalligned."

"Yeah but you just don't expect a solid metal door to fall flat at the slightest touch. You'd _think_ because a door would be made of _metal_ that it would be just a little bit sturdier."

"Enough! Probably whoever's left in the fortress heard those gunshots and figured out that it wasn't thunder! Find those POWs and get them out of here, _NOW!_ Lee, you and Miles cover us, Amber, come with me, let's get these cell doors open!"

Zafra saw a man and a woman approaching. The seven prisoners in the cell opposite them and the three others in the cell with her got up and came to the door. The young man came forward and started unlocking her cell.

"Name's Nicholas Moore, I'm a leader in the Resistance. We're here to get the lot of you out." The man she had talked to came forward.

"Thank God. Now then, sir, if you can, arrest that woman there, she claims that she is the granddaughter of the King." George frowned and then looked to her before his eyes softened and he breathed a sign of relief.

"Lady Zafra. Glad to see you are alright." The soldier gaped in anger.

"That's preposterous. Lady Zafra is graceful, elegant, not at all like the foul-mouthed, ungrateful-" George frowned and came forward.

"Well then, sir, we recieved intel that Lady Zafra had been captured and was going to be transferred to Shadowfell...along with the rest of you. _She's_ the reason we accelerated our time table and had one of our members risk exposing himself to destroy the airship." The officer coughed to hide his embarrassment but then Zafra came forward.

"It is nice to meet you...Nicholas." George noticed the catch and nodded.

"I'd like to talk to you all more but for the moment we are pressed for time and I, for one, am in no mood to see the looks on the Rotarian's faces when they realize that we have captured their high value prisoners right out from under their noses. Can all of you walk?" He was relieved when they all nodded and then he turned and looked to the others.

"Alright, Miles, Lee, take up rear positions. Amber, and I will take point. Make sure your weapons are loaded. Just on the off chance we have to fight our way out of here."

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Thankfully the group didn't run into anyone on the way back and once outside, saw the rest of the Resistance in a truck they had captured and had loaded the other POWs in. There were also three armed escort vehicles armed with machineguns. George leapt in the cab of one of the vehicles and then turned to see Zafra get in behind him along with Amber.

"Amber, you know how to drive?" She shook her head.

"Alright then, man the gun, I'll drive. Zafra, take the seat next to me." Zafra obliged and swapped seats with Amber who then readied the machineguns to defend the convoy. A moment later, George and the other lead vehicle were away with the truck following and the last car bringing up the rear. Once they were on the road, Zafra looked to him.

"Is she safe to talk in front of?" George nodded.

"She saved my life. She knows who I am. You can say anything in front of her." Zafra nodded.

"Moments before your spectacular entrance, the guards got to talking about the airship that was destroyed, thanks for that by the way. They got to talking and said that the airship was transporting equipment for them. Ammunition, weapons, explosives, including a new type that was to be used to access something in the Industrial Sector. All they needed is confirmation from one of the officers with me." George nodded.

"Any idea who?" She nodded.

"Yeah, the officer who said I wasn't who I said I was. He'd had his rank and insignia removed but from his bearing I could tell he had to at least be a Colonel if not a Brigadier General." George nodded.

"When we get back to base, I'll give the group a full debrief and try to find a way to get you all out of the city." Zafra shook her head.

"All due respect Uncle, the hell you will. I watched the Rotarians execute the people I had been tending along with a nurse. They dragged the nurse away to another internment camp but an officer in black and red recognized me and had me brought to the Tower." George looked at her.

"Red and black? That doesn't sound like regular army." Zafra shook his head.

"No, he wasn't. All I know is that the regular rank and file soldiers, even their officers, were scared to death of him."

"Any unit markings? Identifiable insignias?" Zafra thought for a moment then nodded.

"Yeah, there was a small pin on his lapel. A red and gold diamond, with the number twenty-three emblazoned on it. He also had an interesting looking dagger on his belt that looked normal except for a four-pointed star with an X in the center. Mean anything?" George shook his head.

"That's a problem for the eggheads back at Intel. We know next to nothing about the Rotarian military other than their standard uniforms, weapons, tactics, and patterns. A whole new seperate branch is the absolute _last_ thing we need."

Before Zafra could reply, a beam of light shot down from the clouds and impacted an area just off the road. George looked over and saw the wreckage of a vehicle flying through the air. The light also illuminated the four enemy trucks that had been running on the road alongside them.

"Contact left!" As soon as he yelled that, the tops of the cabs opened up revealing soldiers manning machineguns. Another beam of light impacted the rearmost enemy vehicle, destroying it and again illuminating the enemy convoy.

The enemy soldiers wore black and red uniforms with large diamond-shaped patches with the number '23' sewn onto them. Under the patch were three words"

'Occupation Assault Corps'

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Okay, so. George has now liberated the first POWs, Caldor has brought down an airship, and now the appearance of the OAC. Things just keep getting better and better don't they?

And what's the secret under the Industrial District?

Find out soon!

Next Chapter: Road Rage


	40. Road Hazzard

Alright everyone, I'm back with the latest chapter of World Fury. Also, for those of you on DA, I will soon be posting my second fanfic The Legend of Spyro: Aegis Arcanum there so feel free to drop in and take a peek.

Also, yeah, name change again. I thought I'd introduce a new character for the Resistance.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 39: Road Hazzard

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George pushed the accelerator almost to the floor of the escort car as the four remaining OAC trucks tried to ram the escort cars and the truck carrying the POWs off the main road. Amber lined up the machinegun and fired a burst, raking the cab but, alas, it was armored and the bullets just bounced off. She cursed as George threw on the brakes to dodge another hasty ramming attempt by the lead truck.

"Hey George, any chance some Rotarian soldiers left a grenade or three lying around in here?" George shrugged.

"I don't know. Zafra, could you check the rear of the vehicle? If you see any grenades or any weapon that can give us the upper hand, give it to Amber so she can get rid of these trucks. I can't return to our base with them shadowing us."

Zafra obliged him and leaned over to check the floorboard of the car. She was looking when her hand felt a bag strap and pulled it. Inside the leather bag she heard something metal rattle against another metal thing. She opened the bag and pulled a strange looking device that had a hammer-like head, a wooden handle, and a pullcord on the bottom. She pulled them out and held them to Amber.

"These look like grenades?" Amber saw them and her eyes lit up.

"Yep, these are Rotarian 'Hammer' grenades. They basically a larger version of standard grenade but are used against vehicles." Zafra nodded and handed them to Amber who then looked as a truck came at them from the left.

Amber pulled the ripcord from the grenade, counted to three, then lobbed the hammer grenade as far as she could. The explosive device sailed through the air, shattered the passenger side window, and a second later, an explosion ripped the cab apart. The chassis was ripped in half with the rear part going into a flip, spilling the soldiers inside out along the road. George gave a sympathetic groan while he heard Amber start laughing.

"Those SOBs'll _really_ have a case of red-ass in the mornin'! Man, that puts a whole new meanin' to the term 'road rash'!" Zafra, having been held prisoner and seeing the deeds of the OAC soldiers, found it hard to be sympathetic but also didn't laugh at their pain.

The other trucks, having seen one of their number get blown up by one of their own grenades, fell back to the other side of the road. Amber noticed this and smiled.

"I think they've had enough!"

She was proven wrong however, when the soldiers in the truck tossed the canvas covering aside revealing a small caliber cannon mounted in the bed. At that signal, the other trucks did likewise and started to traverse the gears to aim the guns at the Resistance troops. George paled and gripped the steering wheel as hard as he could.

"Crap! Hang on! We're taking a shortcut!"

At some unknown signal, George and the other vehicles turned off quickly heading down an embankment and taking the Canal Road to avoid the trucks. At the bottom of the embankment, George turned the car hard left and sailed under the Red Iron Bridge before looking back and making sure the other vehicles followed.

To his relief, they had.

Then suddenly, a loud crash got his attention and he saw the OAC trucks actually crash _through_ the barricade and start running along the embankment, the tires slinging mud, rocks, and dirt everywhere, trying their damndest to get the vehicles within firing range. Amber lobbed the second hammer grenade, this one landing in front of a truck and when it exploded, the lead truck flipped, rolled down the embankment, and splashed into the Blue River.

"I got one grenade left and two trucks, what do you want me to do George?" George thought for a moment and then realized something.

"We're nearing the old railway bridge aren't we?" Amber looked to him.

"You mean the one that the narrow gauge engines and fahrpanzers used when they weren't on the walls? Yeah. But, I thought it was in disrepair?" George nodded.

"It should still, be sturdy enough for this convoy to cross it. Once we get to the other side, use that hammer genade to finish it off. The explosive charge should be enough to sink the bridge and it's far enough from our base that they won't find us."

"And with any luck we can sink the trucks with the bridge."

They suddenly saw a beam of light strike down and hit the last truck in the group. Zafra spared a glance up and smiled.

"We have a light dragon above us." George nodded.

"That's Caldor, he's a dragon we found unconscious in the canal after the battle." Zafra looked at him funny but didn't say anything else. George looked ahead and saw the frame of the old iron bridge.

"We're almost there! Amber, ready that grenade!"

George gripped the lever that he was sure was the handbrake and pulled it hard and jerked the wheel right. The car immediatley skidded right and slid onto the bridge with only a slight bump as the tires rolled over the old rails. Shifting gears, the convoy followed and took off over the bridge with the lone enemy truck behind them. As the car crossed the center of the bridge, George gave the signal and Amber dropped the grenade from the side of the car, well out of the way of the tires of the other vehicles.

As the vehicles in the convoy crossed and the enemy truck came to the center, the last grenade exploded, lifting the truck up and over the edge of the bridge. The magazine holding the rounds for the cannon also detonated, the force of which shook the bridge so much it actually broke free from the banks and the iron bridge collapsed with a cacophany of noise.

As the bridge fell, the POWs in the truck started cheering loudly and George allowed himself to slow down to catch a breather. Amber smiled and looked down to him.

"I don't see any more foes. We're in the clear."

A cannon round impacting the last vehicle in the convoy shattered that hope. The car was hit in the rear and flipped forward ejecting Lee and his gunner, a young man named Boyce. George turned to see a halftrack rolling up, this one mounted with a cannon that had the convoy in its sights.

_"Attention Rebel soldiers, stop your vehicles at once or we __**will **__open fire!"_ George slowed the vehicle as the cannon traversed, clearly bracketting the truck with the POWs. He looked up to Amber.

"If you have an extra one of them hammer grenades, now would be a hell of a time to mention it." Amber shook her head.

"No dice. Used the last one on the bridge."

The halftrack slowly came down the hill, its cannon never wavering from the convoy. Amber gasped when she saw it.

"Wouldn't work anyway. That's a PzH-328C. It has thicker armor, obviously better weapons, and, unlike the standard model, is closed in to prevent a grenade from dropping in. A hammer grenade wouldn't even dent it." George gazed up.

"What about Caldor?" Zafra shook her head.

"I saw him break off and head, I assume, in the direction of your base. I would think he was out of mana and unable to attack." George then looked at the halftrack and sighed.

"Alright. I'll shift and attack the halftrack. Amber, take the wheel and as soon as I shift, you punch the accelerator and haul ass." Zafra then tapped his shoulder.

"I don't think that's going to be neccessary. Look."

George followed her gaze and saw something moving through the tall grass. The halftrack stopped and a tall soldier stepped out, pistol drawn and a transmitter in his hand for the loudspeaker on the vehicle.

_"Exit the vehicle. Drop your weapons, raise your hands above your heads, and get down on your knees."_ The soldier glanced right at the last moment and saw the movement and leveled his pistol at the grass.

"Halt!"

That was the only word he said.

There was a bright flash and then, wonder of wonders, a projectile shot forward, struck the soldier, propelled into the half track with him, then exploded in a terrific ball of fire. There was a cry of amazement from the other vehicles and then a whoop from the grass. George looked and saw a a man in a dirty, worn Syllian uniform rise up, hefting what was known as a 'recoiless rifle' in his arms. The soldier turned to George and walked over. George smiled as the man approached.

"Hell of a shot Sergeant. And one hell of an ambush. For a moment there I thought our goose was cooked." The soldier nodded.

"Yeah. I'd been tracking that damned halftrack since the day after the occupation. Never had a clear shot at it or the members of the crew until you decided to raise holy hell. Ah, but before I forget, first meetings often warrant introductions." The soldier saluted.

"Master Sergeant Jack Hazer of the 34th Engineers. Though, most people call me 'Hazzard Jack'." George rasied an eyebrow at that.

"Why do they call you that?"

"My dad was a member of the Resistance back during the days of Tellanian occupation. I inherited the nickname 'Hazzard' from him as he was the chief trap builder, bomb maker, and weaponsmith among them. The old man...he taught me everything he knew about explosives, traps, and weapons design. Hoped to the Almighty I'd never have to use those skills but...there you have it." George looked at him.

"You build bombs?" Hazzard nodded.

"Yes sir. If you bring me enough components, I can create anything: grenades, pipe bombs, shrapnel mines, regular mines, satchel charges, demo charges, hell, bring me enough DEX5 and I'll create a bomb so massive you could bring down the building the damned OAC has set up as they headquarters...Unfortunately their HQ is in the Inner Residential District. To get there, I'd need to get some permits to travel the sectors. Damned Rotarians...they're a lot smarter than Tellanian occupiers I'll give them that."

"What do you mean?"

"They've divided the city into 'sectors'. Right now, we're in the outer sector. The Rotarians don't have much of a presense out here but their forces are concentrated on the forts and walls with the occasional patrol here and there. Inside the city, they're as thick as flies on shit. A fellow can't fart without blowing stink into one of those OAC soldier's faces." George looked back to Amber.

"Did anyone know of this?" She shook her head. George turned to him.

"Well Hazzard, I would suppose you'd like to join the Resistance, correct?" Hazzard looked at him.

"Well unless you already have a bomb maker slash engineer slash gunsmith who just so happens to have a few...'friends' in the newly built black market...then yes. Besides, I have a bone to pick with the OAC. They aren't like regular army. The Rotarian regulars...at least they have _some_ honor. The OAC...they're a whole other kettle of fish."

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(Later, back at the Mill)

Doctor Francois Mezzanie had seen his share of injuries both on and off the battlefield. He'd seen everything from the common cold to the most virilent of sicknesses. He'd seen all manner of wounds from lacerations to bullet wounds to shrapnel wounds to burns of all types and degrees. Some of the POWs the team had brought in had injuries from their time in battle from the siege. His time in the old Resistance had also made him aware that some enemies didn't adhere to the rules of war.

And that everyone, even the most loyal officer, has a breaking point.

As he triaged each POW as well as looked over Lee who, unlike poor Boyce, had survived the car being destroyed, he also examined each and every one of the POWs, especially the officers, for signs of interrogation or torture. Thankfully, he found nothing more severe than a broken leg. As he did his duty, George went downstairs to the grainery room and then walked over the old ricketty dock to the abandoned spillway where Caldor had set himself up a 'lair' of sorts.

The inside of the spillway wasn't at all what you would think. Having been abandoned during the Blue Flood in 1918 when rainwater caused the Blue River to run out of its banks which in turn backed up the old canals and flooded most of Launces, the old spillways that ran along the new canals were bone dry and dimly lit but they were hardly dusty and plus, having grown up in such a lair before joining the Dracocorps, it was just a matter of sweeping out some dust and evicting a colony of rats and the old spillway was just like home.

Caldor heard George shift aside the old boards that had been piled up in front of the entrance to disguise it and turned to look at him. He saw George's expression and smiled.

"So, all the POWs are safe? No debilitating injuries I hope?" George nodded.

"Thanks to that distraction you caused. I'm sure that without your aid the fight would have been much worse and we would have lost more people than just Boyce." Caldor sighed.

"I...I should have been there...it's just that...I was out of mana and couldn't attack any further." George placed a hand on his shoulder.

"It's alright. I know. Besides...only a fool goes into battle thinking everyone under his command is immortal. At any time we sortie any one of us could be killed or worse, captured. That's the risk with fighting behind enemy lines." Caldor nodded but then his head jerked up and he took a long whiff of the air.

"Someone's there." George turned and heard someone move the boards and debris in front of the entrance where a voice suddenly came.

"So...this is where our dragon ally is."

George saw Zafra step from the shadows, her expression blank. Caldor tensed as she drew closer, this WAS after all, the eldest daughter of both Ignitus and Magothera, the two dragons his father had tried to kill. The only dragon known to history to not only have control of magical abilities but also be able to shapeshift. He finally averted his eyes and gazed further down into the tunnel.

"Normally, a host is to greet a guest in his den before deciding to give them the cold shoulder." Caldor huffed and didn't turn back around. Zafra turned to George.

"I spoke with Amber and she said that the millhouse didn't have any spare room. Since your things are the mill itself and the rest of the equipment is there I...I was...I was coming down here to see if there was any spare room down here but since grumpy guts there has laid claim to it I suppose I'll have to find elsewhere to den up."

THAT got Caldor's attention and he brought his head back around.

"Y-You would den down here? I...I mean...uh..." Zafra frowned.

"You think that because I'm a de Launces that I'm a spoiled little princess who doesn't like 'roughing it' as humans are wont to say? Let me tell you something right here and now. I may have de Launces blood in my veins but that only means that I am damn good with machinery and have the guts to move forward come hell or whatever else. Now I don't know what's got you so flustered around me but as far as I'm concerned, drop it. We're two dragons, stuck in the same set of circumstances, and we have to do what our race does does best: Survive and Adjust." Caldor gazed at her and sighed.

"Sorry if I seem cold and distant...it's just that...every time I think I'm close to shaking my Father's shadow, something happens that brings all those memories back with avengance. I...I just don't know how people will react when they learn that the eldest daughter of Magothera de Launces, and the only son of Caldor the Traitor, are working with the Resistance and actually sharing a den..." Zafra then surprised him by changing into dragon form and used her tailblade to cavre a line through the stone of the floor. She smirked and looked back to George who had covered his ears from the noise and then to Caldor who looked at her as if she was crazy.

"There. Now then, that's _your_ side of the den on that side of the line and this side is mine." Caldor couldn't help but chuckle.

"Seriously? You're placing a line in the stone? Ugh, never mind. Heh, sometimes I get to wondering what it would be like to have a mate but then all those memories of Mother come rushing back and all I can recall is indifference, neglect, and the constant nagging." Zafra paused and looked to him.

"You don't have a mate? I thought most Syllian dragons your age already had a family?" Caldor snorted.

"Yeah well neither of your parents were labeled as 'traitor' now were they? Even my own wing avoided me like the Plague. You want to know the worst thing that's ever happened to me? I saw my Mother a few days before the atack. I decided to speak with her but she didn't even notice me. ME. Her own child, her flesh and blood, and she didn't even..." George and Zafra both looked at each other in shock before looking to Caldor to see him fighting back tears.

"Here I am...finally doing something right for a change...yet...as soon as the war is over, if I survive, it'll all go back to the same thing. How can I possibly get out from under the stigma of my lineage when the very daughter of the dragons my father tried to kill is sharing a den with ME and her brother is leading the Resistance?" George looked to Caldor.

"Caldor...don't tell me you...you planned to _die_ the day Launces fell..." Caldor nodded.

"I had decided that day. If I managed to take down enough of the enemy that maybe, just maybe, I'd be good enough for someone, _anyone_ to consider shedding a tear for me...If not, then hey, I go out on my own terms, perhaps a burial in an unmarked grave, and then I fade from the minds of people and no longer haunt the nightmares of little children." His shoulders visually slumped.

"That would be the _best_ that I could hope for." Zafra eased over to George and looked at him.

"Is he always this depressed?" George shook his head.

"I know he hates his father and genuinely regrets what transpired all those years ago. It seems he's borne the brunt of all the hatred and anger that should have gone towards his father that people feel that they were cheated out of with Silverus' execution." Zafra nodded and gazed at Caldor before remembering something and turning back to George.

"By the way, Grant wanted to talk to you. Something about radio signals and maybe arranging a rescue for the POWs. Also, our latest ally, Hazard Jack, is trying to set up a lab of some sort in the old grainery. He's actually talking about sending some of our members out on supply runs to steal explosives and chemicals that he can use to make more of them." George nodded then looked to Caldor who was in a sort of depression in the back of the tunnel and pointed to him.

"Will you be alright being alone with him?" Zafra huffed.

"Don't worry. I think he has other things on his mind instead of trying anything. But...if he _does_ try anything, well...Mother _did_ make sure I was well trained in the art of combat before I left for here. Oh, speaking of which, you should probably let her know when you get the chance that I'm alright. She's probably worried sick about me..."

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(Launces)

The day after news that Launces had fallen, a passenger vessel from Avalon arrived in Eastport. From there, a group of passengers were guided to the railyard where a private train carried them to Royalis. From there, Spyro, Cynder, Ignitus, Thera, and their children went straight to the castle and met with James and Lysa in their private quarters.

Compared to the chambers in Launces, the Royal Chambers of Royalis seemed far grander and more opulent. Yet, for all its looks and seemingly relaxed atmosphere, James had not been able to get a night's rest in the large room since Launces fell. Lysa was in a foul mood regarding the fallen city as well as the fate of their eldest son. Add that to the hastily transmitted message asking them if their granddaughter, Zafra, had made it safely there or not only cast fuel on the fire.

Despite a city-wide hunt for Zafra, the City Guard and the Dracocorps had turned up nothing. This in turn had forced Thera to come, despite her condition, to Royalis to see her parents.

As the group entered the chambers, Lysa came forward to embrace her daughter, and then embraced Ignitus and smiled at Spyro and Cynder. As Lysa stepped back, Thera came forward.

"Where's Dad?" Lysa sighed.

"He's been asked to be kept informed of anything coming out of the occupied zone. Thankfully, Peninsula City has been held thanks to Josh and Bertram's timely intervention but... the victory there is but a small drop in a bucket compared to all that Rotiart has managed to do in almost a month's time. Thankfully, our forces are holding the line but the front in Northumbria isn't faring as well. Rumors that Rotarian forces have already attacked Navorra are already circulating." Thera looked to her mother and sighed.

"What about George? What about my daughter?" Lysa sighed and shook her head.

"There is still no word. We've contacted all the towns that took in evactuation trains but out of the seventeen trains that were used to evacuate civilians, barely nine escaped, the rest were trapped when the lines to Launces were blown up to prevent further evacuations. There was just no time to..."

At that moment, James came through the door, his face red from running, an expression of shock on his face.

"James, what's wrong?!" James held a paper for her to see.

"This just came over the encrypted line. Someone in Launces is transmitting using one of the G4 Enigma cyphers. We had to decode it twice because, quite honestly, I dodn't believe it at first."

Lysa came forward and looked over the letter and then passed it to Thera.

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ENCRYPT SIGNAL G4CE: CONFIRMED

ALL TRANSMITTERS FUNCTIONING

EMERGENCY. EMERGENCY. EMERGENCY.

THIS IS EDWARD GRANT, FORMER ASSISTANT DIRECTOR OF SICB. TRANSMITTING FROM LAUNCES. TRANSMITTING THAT RESISTANCE CELLS ARE CONFIRMED TO BE STARTED AND FUNCTIONING. CURRENTLY ATTACHED TO A CELL AS RADIO OPERATOR. PRESENCE OF SEVERAL MIA AND BELIEVED KIA SOLDIERS CONFIRMED.

CANNOT TRANSMIT MUCH BUT IT HAS BECOME APPARANT. GEORGE NICHOLAS DE LAUNCES CONFIRMED ALIVE AND WELL AND IS THE DEFACTO LEADER OF THIS CELL. RECENT RAID AGAINST ENEMY FORCES SECURED FREEDOM OF SEVERAL HIGH RANKING OFFICERS INCLUDING INTEL ABOUT THE ENEMY'S SEARCH FOR WORKSHOP ONE.

ALSO, YOUNG DRAGONESS ZAFRA DE LAUNCES CONFIRMED TO BE PRESENT WITHIN THIS CELL AS WELL.

IT IS ALSO CONFIRMED THAT CALDOR, SON OF SILVERUS, HAS ALSO SURVIVED AND HAS BECOME PART OF THE SAME CELL.

I SHALL ENDEAVOR TO REPORT AS THE SITUATION PROGRESSES.

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Thera dropped the letter from her hand as she felt a sense of fear in her heart. Ignitus glanced at the paper and then looked to James sharply.

"Is the decryption accurate?" James nodded, but then gazed at them both.

"I note your concern but is it just because Zafra is behind enemy lines or is it because Caldor is there with her?" Spyro looked to James curiously.

"Caldor? Who's he?" James started to explain but Thera interrupted.

"He's the only son of the dragon who tried to kill Ignitus and me several years ago, back during the Dalon Conflict." Ignitus snorted at the memory and looked to James.

"I'd thought Silverus didn't have any offspring." James sighed.

"He did. And the stigma of being the son of a traitor fell on his shoulders. Don't look at me like that Thera. You know me well enough that I can't sit idly by while an innocent is condemned for his blood alone. All his life since Silverus was executed he was beaten, starved, disgraced, all on a near daily basis. I only became aware of his existance when he joined the Dracocorps and was assigned to Launces under Aaros' command." Thera gasped as she heard this and then hung her head.

"I...I didn't know...poor child..." James nodded.

"Reports from Aaros indicate that Caldor is a very loyal fighter but tends to act rash or irrational in combat drills. He rushes in solo to take on threats that normally would take several dragons to engage. He's an extremely powerful light wielder, much more powerful than his father or even Silverus, the only thing is he seemingly has a death wish. He seems to think that a glorious death in battle will either erase the stain on his name or at least assuage fears that he'll turn traitor like his father." Thera sighed and looked to him.

"Dad, is there a way to contact the Resistance?" James nodded.

"I...I need to get a message to the Resistance. To let Zafra and George know that we haven't given up on them..." James sighed but shook his head.

"I'm afraid that at the moment it's impossible. If we start sending mesages back and forth as easily as letters, we give the enemy more and more chances to decrypt the letters and put the cell in danger. At the moment however, I have the cryptology offices working on a set of codes that, once complete, will be used only by the Resistance cell that George is in command of. It's just a matter of getting the special encrypting device and the code into George's hands."

As Thera sighed, there was a knock on the door. They all turned to see a Syllian officer escorting three Praetorian officers who saluted.

"Your Majesties, sorry for the delay in meeting you. I am Colonel Robert Faulkland and this is my assistant, Major Frank Epps. We are Praetorian officers in charge of weapons projects." James nodded.

"Yes...I'd heard of you and sent a request to the Praetorian military. I believe you had said that you have ideas for weapons that can aid those trapped behind enemy lines?" Colonel Faulkland nodded.

"Indeed sir. I have with me, various blueprints for weapons that can be disassembled, hidden, and then put back together on a moment's notice and also use calibers most likely to be found in the occupied zones. We have an armored transport plane on standby here in Royalis with three crates of weapons and ammunition. We were going to drop them over Launces tomorrow and I believe that there is enough space on board for a small, nondescript package. That is...if you happen to have such a package?"

James grinned.

"Gentlemen, We do indeed have such a package. It just...needs the instruction manual to go with it. No sense in risking two flights when one flight would do the job perfectly. In the meanwhile, while our friends in the cryptology department finish the code and place it to paper, how about showing me these weapons you intend to send to my son and his friends?" Colonel Faulkland nodded.

"Your Majesty, it would be my pleasure."

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Whew. Alright, the new character is revealed, the weapons and codes for the Resistance are being readied, and now comes the test to see what sort of weapons will work.

I...uh...already posted a visual of the weapons on my DA gallery so that you can see what sort of weapons the Resistance will be using. So...next time, the Resistance has the members, now, they need the weapons.

Next Chapter: Supply Drop.


	41. Supply Drop

Well, it's official. I have surpassed Metal Storm as the longest fanfic I have ever written. Forty chapters and over 214,000 words. It is thanks to all your reviews that I've made it this far. Thanks to all of you, and here's to many, many more chapters in the future.

Man, I always knew I was long-winded...

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 40: Supply Drop

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Bertram walked through the castle halls towards his parents rooms. He had been recalled to Royalis immediately when word of the sinking of the _Gigantic_ had reached the ears of the courts. His wing was at the base in the city on standby until his father had said what he needed to say. Bertram's mind jumped unbidden to that last image of the enemy pilot he had killed, Horos, his face fixed in fear.

He shook his head to clear the image and then continued down the hallway. When he reached the door, he gave a tentative knock. A moment passed before he heard a reply.

"Enter."

Bertram took a steadying breath, squared his shoulders, and prepared for whatever rebuke his family had for him. He opened the door and saw his mother sitting by the window, his father standing by her, and then he gazed right and saw Flaire laying down by the fireplace, a worried, yet guarded expression on her muzzle. Her eyes were open but they were grey, almost lifeless. He saw stains on her face where it looked like she had been crying. Bertram remained at attention and came before his father.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" James looked at his youngest son and nodded.

"Quite frankly Bertram I don't know what to do with you. You throw together a half-baked plan, take off from Stonefort before the ink on the base commander's approval orders is even dry, then you engage a Rotarian jet group, all but cut a man in half with your cannons as he bails out." Bertram grimaced at that but James pretended not to notice.

"Then you attack your own brother, leap from the deck of the carrier, place yourself and your brother in the blast radius of the enemy rocket attacks. Then you _finally_ decide to get your head on straight and then do some foolhardy maneuvering to grab hold of the rocket and turn it back on the enemy sub, sinking it. I could go on but at this time what's the point." James took a moment to steady himself before looking Bertram in the eyes.

"I've been hearing nothing but pleas to have you relieved of duty until you can center yourself again. The only reason you haven't been yet is because of a letter I recieved from Lord Kai Ayatane, Michijo's father, pleading with me to show compassion and mercy. The Ayatane clan believe that when one has wronged you, you must make them answer for their crimes. You announced in a very...vicious way...that Ayatane's death struck a cord within you. True the man you shot down wasn't the man who killed Ayatane but to go after like you did was inexcuseable. If I had any sense as a Father I would have you relieved and reassigned to Royalis where I could keep an eye on you." Bertram felt a tear forming in his eye. James then looked back to his son.

"But because your mother would make me regret that choice, I have no alternative. Bertram de Launces, under any other circumstances, sinking the enemy submarine _Gigantic_ and protecting Peninsula City would see you promoted and decorated for your heroics. However, your misdeed has overshadowed your heroics and thus, you are not to be promoted but neither shall you be demoted. Nor are you to recieve any commendations for your actions because they needlessly endangered the fleet and your brother who is, rank wise, a superior officer." Bertram nodded that he understood and then lowered his gaze. James, unbeknownst to Bertram, smiled.

"Now that I've said what needed to be said..." James came forward and embraced his son, much to Bertram's shock.

"You _flew_! You actually flew! I knew that some day this would happen...I just...never thought your first flight would be during a time of war..." As James released his son, Bertram saw his mother stand and likewise embrace him. Bertram suddenly remembered the last time his mother had hugged him like that was when a dragon in the Dracocorps had called him a flightless lizard because he couldn't fly and that he'd never be a dragon. Bertram returned the hug and allowed tears to flow freely.

"Mom...I'm a dragon now." Lysa heard this and she too teared up.

"My son...my beautiful son...you were _always_ a dragon. It doesn't matter if you can fly or not. What is important is what is in your heart." James gave a small cough and motioned his head towards Flaire.

"Your mother and I have matters to attend to. It is obvious that the two of you have some catching up to do and so we shall leave you alone for the time being."

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As the door shut, Bertram shifted to dragon form and approached Flaire who sensed his aura and turned to him. He could sense she was afraid but of what he couldn't say. He took a breath to steady himself.

"Flaire..." She looked to him, tears reforming in her eyes.

"Let me guess. Now that you can fly you believe you can do better than a blind female." Bertram was stunned that she would even think such a thing and came close to her and nuzzled her, draped a wing over her, and reached his tail around to wrap around hers.

"You believe me so callous? Flaire...I messed up in the field, I own that. But I would _never_ forsake you for your injury no more than you did for me. There's a human saying that absense makes the heart grow fonder, and let me tell you, I fully believe in that. All this time I was seperated from you, my mind was fixated on one thing and one thing only. You." Flaire let her mouth hang open in shock as he said this and she felt the sincerity in his words and smiled.

"All this time...I've been foolish, thinking that now that you're no longer grounded, you no longer loved me." Bertram chuckled and came around and kissed her, much to her surprise.

He held the kiss long and deep, reluctantly breaking the kiss and smiling.

"Does that answer your question?" Flaire flushed and nodded, smiling broadly.

"It does indeed. So...where do we go from here?" Bertram gazed out the window and then back to Flaire.

"Well...you know me. I cannot start a family while we're in the middle of a war. But...knowing that you're here for me when I return from my missions is encouragement enough to keep me from doing something stupid." She laughed at that, which made Bertram chuckle and he then turned to face her.

"Flaire. I give you my word. Once the war is over, I'm marrying you, and I swear to you you will never be wont for anything else. I'll make everything up to you, every mistake I made, every reckless chance I took, every stupid stunt I did. I'll answer for it all." Flaire chuckled at that and nuzzled her mate and sighed.

"For a moment I was starting to think you'd say that you were going to behave like our ancestors did when they became mated." Bertram looked to her.

"Which is...?" She leaned in and whispered into his ear frill and Bertram turned from silver to bright red and started chuckling nervously.

"W-Wow..." Flaire laughed.

"Indeed. It was said that newly mated dragons never emerged from their lairs for the first moon. In fact, being newly mated was once a legitimate excuse for almost anything. It was socially unacceptable to barge in on a pair of dragons while they were...consumating their love for each other." Bertram grinned mischieviously.

"Well then, I'd damn well better do my best to make it back to you alive and in one peace." Flaire bent her neck around and mimicked the earlier kiss that left both dragons breathless and she smiled.

"You'd better."

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James was soon at the cryptology office of the Intelligence service and the chief officer gave a sharp whistle to get everyone's attention. They all turned and faced their king. The military members of the officer saluted, the civilians bowed respectfully before straightening. James nodded and gazed at every single man and woman in the office before starting speaking.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you for your efforts in creating the new codes and also for completely reengineering the Enigma machine. It is at this moment that I now can tell you what your hard work has been angled towards. This code and the new machine is going to be the code used to communicate with the Resistance groups and cells throughout the Rotarian occupied zones. One code for each sector so that if the enemy cracks one they cannot take down the others." The people clapped and cheered until James raised his hands to quiet them.

"I also have one further announcement. This office, the Office of Cryptology and Espionage, is hereby to be redesignated. From this day forward, the OCE is now the OSS. The Office of Strategic Services. You will be the handlers of the Resistance cells behind enemy lines. Any reports from them or requests shall come through this office. Any agents deployed into the occupied territory shall come from this office. The OSS will handle any and all manner of covert operations: demolition, espionage, sabotage, subversion, disruption, search and rescue, and many other things." The people in the office gasoed at the shocking change but quickly, they realized it made sense, and they started cheering again. James nodded and then waved a hand to the machine and codebook bound for Launces.

"The transport for Launces leaves in a few hours. I want that Enigma and codebook aboard before it leaves." As the office rushed about to comply with his orders, the Praetorian Major Epps came up and saluted but his face held a worried expression.

"Your Majesty, there's been a...complication. The pilot of the transport, Flight Lieutenant Barnes, has come down with a severe cold and is unable to fly the transport." James cursed and then looked to him.

"How quickly can you train a Syllian pilot to fly a Praetorian transport?"

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Bertram sat at the map table looking voer the map to the city of Launces. Beside him was a pilot fresh from the RAF Academy chosen to replace the ailing Lieutenant Barnes in flying the transport. Bertram and the 1st Air Wing would fly escort for the transports as they flew over Launces. The decision to use multiple Syllian transports to hide the Praetorian transport had been his idea so that the enemy AA gunners had too many targets. However, the chance of the supplies being intercepted weighed heavily on the minds of Colonel Faulkland and Major Epps.

"If we don't have a clue as to where the Resistance is we run the risk of the cipher, weapons, and codes falling into the hands of the enemy. Your Majesty, Your Highness, you're both from Launces, correct? Surely there must be _something _about the city that would make a good place for a base." James looked over the map and nodded.

"Well, for one, we know they're in Outer Launces. It's all farmland with a few sparce buildings, mills, barns, graneries, and a few medium sized buildings and a few abandoned old manor houses. If I recall correctly, Zafra has an affinity for her dragon form so she'd likely return to that form as soon as she possibly could. That would mean looking for a place that is close enough for a fast strike against the Tower to rescue POWs and is far enough or secluded enough to eliminate or minimize the risk of detection." Faulkland looked at James curiously.

"You mean a place large enough for _two_ dragons to den up together when they aren't fighting? Are there many such places in Launces?" James shook his head.

"Once there was but after the Blue Flood all the possible places were either destroyed or filled in and forgotten...unless..."

"Unless?" James then gazed at the map closer.

"Okay, there's one answer we haven't looked at yet. The old Spillways and underground canal systems. During the flood, the spillways backed up causing the canals to flood which then flooded the streets. After the water receded, I had the gate on the Blue River only open to allow a minimum of water to fill the new canals. That way, the river would still be a viable route for grain barges and the like while not posing a danger of flooding during the seasonal rains." Bertram gazed at the map now.

"That eliminates Oscar's Mill, it's too close to the outer wall and would be the first place to be searched in the event of an attack. It also eliminates the Lorelai Farm because the access to the underground canal was destroyed and the tunnel was sealed. That leaves Albeir's Farm or Pierson's Mill. We also don't want to drop the supplies right on top of them because the enemy will investigate every dropped package, even the duds." James nodded. Bertram then pointed to the part of map marked as 'Albeir's Farm'.

"Plus, I seem to recall that the spillway at Albeir's Farm was bricked off and besides was too narrow for two dragons to live comfortably together. That means the only feasible location left is Pierson's Mill." James nodded again, satisfied with his son's logic.

"We are in agreement. Alright, I'll have the OSS contact the cell at Pierson's Mill and instruct them of the supply drop at Albeir's. Likely, the Rotarians haven't taken the time to memorize the locations or names of the farms or businesses and as such won't know one farm from another. Plus, with the old canals being connected, they can travel underground to avoid detection. They'll have to do something about the bridge though." Colonel Faulkland looked at him curiously.

"Bridge? What bridge?" James pointed at an area just outside the markings of the farm.

"Albeir's farmhouse lies on the opposite side of the north canal. There's only two ways to get to it. Cross the bridge over the canal or loop all the way through the city and exit from the north gate and come down the farm road and cross the small bridge up there." Bertram nodded.

"Take out the lower bridge and a ten minute drive becomes an hour and fifty minutes." James nodded.

"Exactly. Well then, let's get to it. Also Bertram, I want to have a word with you in a moment."

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(Launces)

ENCRYPTION KEY CONFIRMED

LINE STATUS: CLEAR

FLASH MESSAGE FROM ROYALIS TO LAUNCES. URGENT.

CELL NOW AUTHORIZED BY THE OSS. SUPPLY DROP LISTED FOR 2200 HOURS.

RECEIVER IS ALBEIR. MAKE HASTE AND ENSURE DESTRUCTION OF VITAL LAND LINES.

NOTE DECOYS WILL ALSO BE DEPLOYED TO OTHER AREAS.

GOOD LUCK.

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George set the new letter down and gazed to the partisans gathered around him. He had a gist of what the letter meant.

"Alright, our prayers have been answered. We have a supply drop coming tonight at ten. The plane will make the drop over Albeir's Farm and we'll have to retrieve the packages before the Rotarians arrive. Okay, Hazzard, I need some explosives." Hazzard nodded.

"What do you need?"

"I need something that can destroy small bridges. There are three bridges we need to destroy to to distract the enemy and divert their attention from the real drop. Plus, an incendiary to destroy the supply crates once we have the supplies. Hopefully the enemy will think the supplies broke and caught fire when they landed." Hazzard rubbed his beard slowly, thinking. Then looked up.

"I have about eight and a half feet of detcord, seven blocks of DEX5, and a whole crate of dynamite for explosives. As for incendiaries, I have bupkiss but I believe I have enough materials to mix up some thermite." George looked to him.

"Thermite? That's an incendiary that can melt steel right?" Hazzard nodded.

"That's right. Also can't be put out by water. Combine a seven stick dynamite bomb with three bags of thermite and you get a nice little explosion and a wildfire to boot. The only problem is that I don't have any timers for the dynamite. If someone sets those bombs, they'll have to light the fuses." George sighed as he realized what _that_ meant.

"Which creates sparks which may set the thermite off prematurely...can dynamite alone bring down a bridge?" Hazzard scratched his chin and did the math in his head and then looked back at him.

"It _can_ be done but...I'd need roughly six large dynamite bombs per bridge and I honestly don't have that much on hand. I can maybe, _maybe_, take out one bridge but not three..."

"I'll do it."

George turned to see Zafra and shook his head.

"Out of the question you-" Zafra growled.

"_I_ am a dragon, I control not only the element of earth but I can also bend metal to my will. Furthermore, I am a de Launces and I will _not_ stand by and watch people sacrifice themselves on something deemed dangerous. If we have only enough dynamte to destroy one bridge then use your strongest assets to destroy the remaining two. Hazzard can destroy the bridge close to the supply drop while Caldor and I destroy the others. Plus, the enemy sees dragons flying overhead, they're either going to panic and abandon their posts or call reinforcements from the rest of the occupation force."

George looked to her and then to Caldor and sighed.

"Alright. However, whichever of you destroys your bridge first you are to fly to the other immediately in case the enemy _does_ decide to call reinforcements. Two dragons can do more damage together than seperate. Once both bridges are down, eliminate any forces capable of pursuit, and return to base. If all goes well, we'll be home shortly." Zafra nodded and she and Caldor departed as George turned back to the partisans.

"Alright, now, we have to go further down through here to reach the old aqueducts. Hazzard, take six with you so that it won't be just you out there. Alright. Amber, Miles, pick your squads and come with me."

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Bertram was amazed at the sight. Transports to the left, to the right, above and below, and yet the only one carrying actual cargo was the transport that was flying slightly forward and above him. For this mission, once again, his jet had been grounded, and he found himself piloting a blacked out P-32 with only Syllian markings and two fleurescent stripes on the wings and rudder to let the transports and other fighters know where he was.

"Paladin to all planes, radio check. We're almost to Launces. Get ready in case we have to engage enemy night fighters."

_"Black Knight here. I copy wingleader."_

_ "Bishop copies."_

_ "Rook copies. Weapons are loaded."_

"Paladin to all Postmen, once you're packages are delivered, hit the engine to full power and head for home."

_"This is Postmaster, easy for you to say. None of the-"_

_ "Postman 3 to Postmaster, shut the hell up about our cargo, this is an unsecured frequency!"_

Bertram looked down as the young pilot in the Praetorian transport replied indignantly at the other pilot and checked his map and then gazed through the dark using his dragonsight to scan through the darkness. Moments later, he nodded.

"All planes, we just passed over the castle. Looks like the city is in a blackout." He then heard Dieter's voice come on.

_"That's SOP for occupied territory. Turn out the lights so that no one from above can see your positions. If the enemy has any AA guns set up we won't know about them until they start firing."_

At that moment, a bright light shined upward and illuminated one of the transports on the far edge of the formation. A loud whine shattered the silence and more and more lights came on and flak bursts began illuminating the air with quick plumes of flame. A loud explosion got Bertram's attention and he saw another transport take a round to the engine cowling and start falling.

_"Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is Postman 7, starboard engine is hit and we are going down! We're bailing out over what looks to be the power plants in the industrial sector."_

Bertram cursed and watched as the crew of the transport jumped and the plane spiraled towards the ground. He checked his map again and then glanced around and cursed.

"Paladin to all planes, we are off target! I repeat: we are off target! Correct course ten degrees to starboard!" Bertram cursed as the transports slowly started to adjust their courses and he hoped that George was in position.

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Hazzard and his men held their positions as the few Rotarian soldiers marched by, the soles of their boots making a deep 'thump' as they each took a step. He thought of his situation and cursed. here he was, merely twenty feet from the bridge and yet he might as well be twenty miles.

_(Of all the times for a night patrol, why'd it have to be __**tonight**__?)_

Hazzard had counted on the bridge being lightly guarded, which, for a moment, it was but then a truck broke down and the sergeant of the group, determined not to have his men be late for whatever the hell the enemy had planned, had them dismount and start marching to their destination while the guards on the bridge started repairing the truck. The group had almost passed when a siren pierced the silence and lights suddenly flared up from distant places and guns started firing. In the air above, Hazzard heard the low droning of aircraft engines and saw little white clouds starting to drop slowly from the air.

He was close enough to a group of soldiers to see them pale and heard the sergeant in the distance shout.

"Paratroopers! All men ready your weapons!"

As if on que, the soldiers started firing upwards at the falling chutes. Seeing his chance, Hazzard and the group slipped down the embankment, into the stream, and swam to the bridge supports and started wiring the bombs.

"Listen up. There's an entrance to the aqueducts a little ways downstream. Once we light the fuses, you swim like hell and get to to the entrance. you get lost, look for the blue sign with the number fourteen on it. That's the entrance."

A moment later, the bombs were set, Hazzard was ready to light the fuses, and the soldiers above were still oblivious to their presense. They were still busy shooting the parachutes that were falling.

_(Just as long as they don't hit the real supplies...)_

Hazzard saw hit men, fuses and lighters ready, and gave the signal. Simultaneously, the sound of striking flints, hissing fuses, and the sight of small glowing embers confirmed that the fuses were burning. He then nodded to the men and pointed downstream.

As a group, they slipped into the water and started swimming, letting the current aid them in their exertions. Suddenly, Hazzard heard a yell and saw a bullet strike the water and then spared a glance to see three soldiers climbing down and yelling at their fellows that there were swimmers in the water. More bullets struck the water and he heard one of his men cry out and he glanced to see the man holding his arm, the water around him turning red. Hazzard flipped in the water, drew his sidearm, a revolver, and fired.

Only his shot wasn't aimed at any of the men.

It was aimed at the dynamite on the bridge.

A loud explosion nearly deafened him and a fireball erupted, illuminating the sky as the bridge rose in the center before crashing down into the stream. The screams of the soldiers and the sound of weapons fire was drowned out by the moans of the wounded, the dying, and the screams of the men who had fallen into the stream and were drowning, pinned under burning debris. Hazzard grabbed the wounded man before he was swept away and pushed him to his fellows who pulled him into the entrance. Hazzard took a moment and gazed back at the burning bridge and smiled.

"I always did have a problem with burning my bridges behind me."

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Caldor felt rather pleased with himself that he had already destroyed his bridge when not only the air raid sirens started but also off in the distance, a tell tale fireball marked the end of the second. Now all that was left was Zafra's bridge. He gazed upwards, already seeing the parachutes falling. The soldiers guarding the bridge had panicked and ran as he launched an attack that disabled their makeshift communications hut. Now more soldiers were firing into the air wildly, obviously thinking these were not supply crates but paratroopers. Caldor growled with disdain at their fear.

_(If this truly was a paratroop raid, the lot of you bastards would be dead by now.)_

He glanced towards where Zafra was and failed to see or hear anything conducive to a bridge collapsing and decided to wing over and investigate. As he closed, he saw Zafra engaging the enemy on the ground, then he saw several AA guns in an upwards firing position, their crews looking smug. He immediately realized what had happened.

_(Those bastards! They forced her to land and now she's being overrun. If she falls then...)_

He realized that either the capture or killing of Zafra would be detrimental to not only the Resistance but also his health and he decided to liven things up a bit.

Mainly by blasting the living hell out of the AA guns keeping Zafra grounded.

He fired a beam of light at the closest gun, detonating the poorly stored ammo piled nearby which knocked the brakes off the cannon and sent it rolling into a group of soldiers, down an embankment, and into the canal. The other AA gun, realizing there were _two_ dragons, was quickly being cranked to where it could fire on Caldor, however, just as the crew lined up the sight, a large chunk of rock lifted up in front of the gun, forcing it into an almost vertical firing position. The soldier on the lanyard, evidentally unused to combat against a dragon, yanked the trigger device and fired the weapon.

The shell came up, turned in midair, and came down, detonating just over the gun crew's heads.

Needless to say the shell created quite a mess.

Zafra, now free from the risks of being blasted out of the air, took off, her wings buffeting the soldiers and sent several of them rolling down the embankment to the canal or rolling along the road. One notable one was a sergeant getting turned around and smashing his face into a steel support beam for the bridge.

Zafra spared no time to enjoy herself however and started harnessing her mana. She used the earth the seperate the foundation from the bridge, weakening it, and then used her power over metal to twist and warp major supports. She was rewarded by the sounds of rivets popping, steel creaking and buckling, and support rods and ties bending and some smaller supports actually shearing themselves free as the full weight of the bridge came down on them. Then, almost like a house of cards, the bridge came apart and crumbled into the canal. No large chunks of debris were visible, no, Zafra had completely _disassembled_ the bridge allowing it to come apart completely and crash into the canal. She gazed at Caldor who chuckled.

"Not as flashy as I would have done it but still, impressive." Despite herself, Zafra felt the scales around her face grow warm at the praise, the edges of her maw also lifed up in a small smile. Though she didn't say it, this was the largest deconstruction she had ever done. She then felt her strength drain and suddenly felt a presense by her side as her eyes drooped.

Opening her eyes, she saw Caldor beside her, supporting her through the air. He smiled as she noticed him.

"I think it would be prudent to return to the lair before nodding off, don't you think?" Zafra nodded and forced herself to stay awake as they winged back to the lair. As they flew through the air, Zafra felt her senses sharpen. She became aware of Caldor's heartbeat, his breathing, and sensed how strong it was, and sensed how dedicated and loyal he was to not only the Resistance but to his comrades as well.

_(What could possess a dragoness __**not**__ to want a mate like him?)_ She almost blurted out the question but then saw his eyes and she knew why.

_(Because of the past, of crimes he is blameless for...yet they only see him as the son of a traitor...They don't care enough to get to know the soul beneath the exterior...I wonder...)_

Had she been able to read minds, she would have discovered Caldor lamenting that his mind was in conflict with his heart. To Caldor's mind, most dragonesses (at least the ones _**he**_ knew) tended to use their elements and stay out of direct conflict. Not many, hell none of them, would even consider landing and engaging the enemy with tail, claw, and fang. A pity that he wasn't born to a different father, or he might have actually stood a chance at someday, when this is over, finding a mate.

Maybe even her. Even Zafra.

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George and his group climbed out of the tunnel near the farm in time to see the white chutes from the supply drop billowing in the wind. The crates meant for them came down almost right in front of them and Amber cheered and ran for the closest crate. In the distance, the bridge that Hazzard had dynamited burned ferociously. George turned to Miles and smiled.

"Remind me to give Hazzard a medal when we get back. Or at least once Launces is free." Miles nodded and started breaking open the other crates. Inside one, he found a note and whistled for George to come over and handed him the note.

_My Son,_

_ As you are no doubt aware now, the Rotarians have gained more than just Launces. Thankfully, by writing this letter, I may be able to assuage the fear that we are defeated. Rest assured that we have not yet begun to fight and shall continue to resist and fight back as long as possible. Even now we have secured some small victories. Just a week ago, your brothers sank an enemy submarine and managed to secure Peninsula City from attack._

_ I have directed some of our forces and our allies to make the city a landing point to force the enemy into fighting on a second front. Doubtless the enemy will fight us every step of the way but that is inevitable. The Rotarians are a stubborn enemy but the generals assure me that they have overextended themselves. Attempting to hold so much under their control of an...absentee ruler is a mix for failure. They will not be able to supress all the Resistance cells that will inevitably spring up from the occupied cities and towns they now oppress._

_ I now give you this order, not as your Father but as your Commander, I hereby appoint you to be the leader of the Resistance cells in Launces. I have high hopes that you will find more such groups as you enter the city and manage to win back some small victories for us. I will not ask for daily updates because that runs the risk of detection. Instead, the Resistance will act through the Office of Strategic Services or OSS. They will provide intel to you and it will be up to you to act on it or not. Enclosed in one of the boxes is a new type of cypher as well as an encryption key, a new type of coding machine we've taken to calling 'ULTRA', and a list of high value targets and strategic targets of high importance in your area._

_ Act swiftly and decisively._

_ Your Father, _

_ J._

George hastily folded the letter and placed it in his coat pocket as the rest of the equipment was inspected, broken down and moved into the aqueduct. George caught a glimpse of the coding machine and knew what its arrival meant.

The Resistance was now active. And their mission was simple.

Raise as much hell as possible and avoid capture.

The Battle for Launces has only just begun...

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Whew! Alright! Got this one done. As always, I hope ya'll like it. Man, it hardly seems like half the year's gone by already, huh? Just a few short months ago I was bundling up to keep warm and getting psyched for the premier of Star Wars Episode 7 and now here we are, enjoying the new Captain America movie, the Angry Birds movie, and the Louisiana humidity is starting to show itself.

That and the mosquitoes. I HATE those things. I mean, being a Christian I believe God has a purpose for all things but what, in the name of all that is holy, is the purpose for the mosquito other than to suck blood, infect people with deadly viruses and diseases, and annoy them with that high pitched whine when they fly past your ears?

Ah well, no matter, as long as I've got a flyswatter handy, I'm good.

Next Time: The Abandoned Cistern


	42. The Abandoned Cistern

Hey everyone, sorry for the delay, nothing but bad weather down through here. I've spent the last week chopping up fallen trees and putting out fires caused by downed electrical lines. Man, those old power lines were put up by Valley Electric back in the 60's and they're _still_ standing...well, most of them are still standing.

Every now and again one or more fail due to old age or extreme weather conditions (or people fighting over who gets to throw the paper on the route)...yeah, that _actually_ happened.

My neighbors were on the route and started argueing over who throws the paper and lost control of the truck they used.

Stupid thing is, they dad was more upset about the truck than the fact that he nearly lost two of his kids. I remember that because it was the first time I'd ever seen my Grandma Vivian mad at someone. (I was only six at the time)

She told him flat out that he ought to be on his knees thanking the Lord that them boys weren't hurt worse or even killed in that wreck. I saw the injuries on the others and to tell the truth, thinking back, it was a miracle that they weren't killed.

Ah, but enough about stories from my childhood, ya'll came here for the chapter.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 41: The Abandoned Cistern

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Zafra couldn't help but squeal as more old cobwebs and roots brushed over her flank. She resolved that, once they got back to the Mill, she'd make George walk down this way in dragon form and see how _he_ liked it. Just because she was a dragon didn't mean that she thought nothing of spider webs and creepy, unlit passages beneath a city. It vaguely reminded her about all those stories Spyro would tell her about the undead apes he fought during and after the Night of Eternal Darkness.

She half expected to find some skeletons down here or worse, _walking_ skeletons. She immediately regretted the thought as it conjured up memories of _more _stories, these told by James about the infamous 'Automen' during the Dalon Conflict.

What scared her the most was that she was intrigued by the abominations and worse, she had actually compiled notes and discovered a way to _create_ them should the need arise. The thought of human bodies, walking around, their entrails replaced with metal components and wiring, all powered by a dark crystal, scared the living daylights out of her yet peaked her curiousity.

She immediately remembered another old saying.

_'Curiousity killed the cat'_

_ (Or in this case dragoness...)_, she thought forlornly.

The only silver lining was that she was not alone doing this. Caldor was ahead, focusing his mana on actually living up to his Light Dragon race by illuminating his scales. The patterns his scales cast upon the cold, musty stone walls almost made her forget that they were walking to an old abandoned part of the underground canal system where, during the 1918 flood, almost one hundred people; canal workers, inspectors, fishermen, and worse of all, the homeless, drowned when the South Canal flooded.

There was a large cistern near the end of the underground canal where water was pumped into Launces through special vents. George had sent her, Caldor, and a few others, to investigate whether or not the Cistern was still intact and it was possible to use the vents (which according to some blueprints she remembered seeing were wide enough for a dragon to pass through) to enter the inner sections of the city.

After the flood, an effort was made to locate and identify the bodies in the canal but sadly, as with all disasters, not all the bodies were found. Shortly afterward, a monument was built, several old cisterns were demolished and buried, and work began on the 1919 North and South Canals. It was said that a few of the old cisterns were kept intact for fear that any more demolition could cause sinkholes to appear.

Still, the fact that they were still there didn't mean they were maintained. As evident by the _massive_ cobweb that Caldor was forced to burn away, his scales fading as he fired a light beam that left everyone in momentary darkness. The web had been so old and thick it almost looked like a cloud. Caldor gave a disgusted snort as he stepped over or on spiders, both dead and alive. One Resistance member, a young man, yelled when he felt something crawling up his back and insisted someone take a look.

When he turned, he heard someone gasp and draw a revolver before a _slap_ echoed and then a gunshot. On the ground there, was a _very_ large species of spider called Trench Dwellers. They were non-venomous but their unnatural size (this particular one was roughly the size of a 10 pound bowling ball) was enough to unnerve even the most wary of people.

The gunshot apparently broke the den of silence that hung over the place as suddenly, wherever the echo of the gunshot reverberated, various sounds now sounded.

Most common was the '_squeak squeak'_ of tunnel rats. That or the skittering sound of various insect colonies like roaches and such that were unused to having their peace shattered by such a violent sound. She then sighed and wondered why George hadn't allowed her to use her powers on the collapsed section they had already found and cleared.

Then she was struck by the logic of his reason.

The collapsed canal in question was built not only under the Grand Central Avenue, the busiest and most heavily used road in Launces, it was also built under the Midtown Keep and actually ran _through_ the lowest level of the fortification. Any work whatsoever either under the Avenue or the Keep itself, would alert the Rotarians and then they'd be in a mess.

The only answer then was to scout the old canals, locate possible areas where there was no enemt presense about, and then start work to clear any debris and try to enter the city. once in the city, they could start linking up with other cells and begin their operations against the occupiers.

The only trouble was the OAC. Since the supply drop, they had become more frequent in their patrols. They investigated the rare 'Central Pass' that was issued to civilians in the city very thoroughly and stopped anyone suspected of being a Partisan without opposition. These people were then spirited away to the OAC HQ which was set up, of all places, in the Grand Cathedral in the Launces castle District.

The humans had balked when they learned that the enemy soldiers had ousted the local priest and had set up shop in the cathedral, hastily reapiring the wall where the northwest tower had collapsed when an aircraft had crashed into it. The historic district was in shambles but it served the OAC well enough. What George personally couldn't stomach was the fact that everywhere in Launces had a perfect view of the castle front and there, flying from the balconies and flagpoles were Rotarian flags instead of Syllian. The blood red banners on the balconies were garish compared to the blue, white, and silver banners that had previously adorned them.

He had won even more support from the Partisans with them by openly vowing to burn every last one of those banners and scatter their ashes over Mechanos' grave once the war was over. Those who didn't know his identity were already starting to warm up to his as a leader in the Resistance. Those few who _knew_ who he was showed him absolute loyalty that made some of the newer recruits often ask what he had done to inspire them so.

Of course, no one ever said anything, they just smiled and said 'he has that type of charisma, you just can't help but believe in him'.

They had some of these new recruits with them now. Of their group of eleven, only Zafra and Caldor were those who knew the truth. The other nine were recruits from the local farms, soldiers who had decided to remain with the Partisans, and persons of interest who had been freed before they had passed through the Midtown Keep. It had been one of the POIs that had divulged information that before the attack, several officers and supply sergeants had been allocated supplies to place in nondescript places throughout the city.

One of those places had been the cistern they were now heading towards, Cistern 14S, the primary, and largest, of the south canal cisterns.

Zafra looked to the man who had given the information and decided to ask him about it.

"It's...Lawson, right? So what kind of supplies are we likely to find in the cistern?"

"I don't have anything concrete but, we could have anything from ammunition to C-rations, medical supplies, weapons, maybe even radio parts. They didn't keep any lists for the fear of them being discovered, and the only place that had a list of the supply caches was destroyed in a fire. What we find here may not be much use to us but I can't see letting the enemy find it later on." Caldor nodded.

"More of a case of us having it and not needing it instead of needing it and not having it, right?" Lawson nodded.

"Despite our new support from Royalis, I doubt they're going to risk a supply drop every night or every week. They lost four planes in that last drop and one of them was confirmed to have landed intact near the power plants. Chances are, any supplies we find we'll have a need for them before the week is out."

Zafra nodded and turned and nearly walked right into Caldor who had stopped. Before she said anything, Caldor pointed with a foreclaw to the wall. There, on the wall, was a faded sign.

LAUNCES UNDERGROUND CANAL CISTERN 14 SOUTH

AUTHORIZED PERSONEL ONLY

The words 'DO NOT ENTER' and 'ABANDONED' were marked over the sign, apparently as a testament that someone _had_ in fact come down here after the flood to check for bodies. By the archway that was bricked up was a series of eight faded red Xs, one yellow X, and three black Xs. Lawson caught Zafra and the group's curious stares and pointed to them.

"Those were marks made by those who went into the canals to try and find anyone who had survived down here. The red marks mean that they found eight dead here. The yellow mark means a survivor was found, and the black marks mean known persons here but remains not found." Zafra looked at him and saw a glint in his eyes.

"How do you know that Mr. Lawson?" Lawson gave a pained smile and pointed to the yellow and black marks.

"There's a reason I'm so familiar with the canal system. _**I**_ was the yellow mark." Many of the Partisans gasped as he said this and Lawson went forward and lay a hand on the marks.

"Rescuers found me in the elevated drain my mother shoved me into before the flood waters came through. The black marks after the yellow stand for my father, my mother, and my older sister. I lost my entire family that night when the canals flooded. I...I never thought I'd come back here. When Nick told me about our need for supplies I remembered that the supply clerk over me was one of the men in charge of the supply caches and he disclosed a few of them to me. The cistern here...it was my home for the first six years of my life." Lawson gazed at the partisans behind him and then the dragons beside him and sighed.

"This is the first time since that night that I've returned here. I always held the hope of finding my family's remains and giving them a proper burial but once the main tunnels were sealed I couldn't act on it. I don't have much hope of finding anything now after all these years but, if this place can help the Resistance, I can put my personal feelings for this tomb aside and help however I can."

Caldor nodded and then balled a foreclaw into the dragon equivalent of a fist and punched the bricked up opening _hard_. Zafra grimaced as the sound of shattering bricks and mortar ended the silence in the tunnel. Caldor turned to give a smile when suddenly the entire wall fell forward with a collosal _THUD!_ that sent dust and debris into the air and peppered the group with pieces of brick. Zafra coughed and looked at the now smiling sheepishly Caldor and sighed.

"Nice one Demolition Dragon. It'd be a miracle if you didn't wake the dead with that." Caldor sighed and then poked his head through the now opened cistern and gave an appreciative grunt. Lawson stepped by him and gazed around at the dusty, ancient stone walls and breathed the stale old air deeply.

"Home sweet home." Zafra came through next and then gasped at the size of it.

"_This_ is a cistern? I thought it'd be...you know...smaller?" Lawson chuckled at that.

"There's a joke in that statement but I get the feeling you're not the type who appreciates crude humor. Anyway, yeah, cisterns are usually small but this one was unique. It was not only a branch cistern that supplied the farmland and inner city with water, it was also planned to be expanded to allow for more water. Costs went too high and the project was stopped halfway through the renovations. After that, people started coming in and making their homes in the unfinished and abandoned alcoves here and there."

"Didn't the workers here try to kick them out?" Lawson shrugged.

"A few times but, once they realized that we didn't mean no harm plus, we helped keep the place clean, the supervisor allowed my father and others to work here. Our alcoves were our homes, there were facilities: showers, kitchens, toiletries, inside the control rooms. A few times we actually averted a few mishaps that would have shut down the canal system for a while. We became part of the canal, kinda like the stories of the raft fleets of old. Floating towns moving up and down the Blue, Whitecap, and Moon Rivers."

"Except you stayed in the canal system until the flood." Lawson nodded.

"Yep. Now then, if I recall...yeah, this was the what the workers called 'A' Deck. It was the highest part of the cistern and was usually twenty feet above water level. The first alcove here belonged to the Rostone family. Mr. Edward Rostone, he was a wizard with a spanner, a pipe wrench, socket wrench, and knew his way around the plumbing here like no one else. In fact, whenever there was a malfunction, he was always the first choice for the damage control team." Lawson looked down and pointed to the old, rusted floodgate that was halfway lowered and was severely buckled and damaged.

"He drowned right there trying to shut the floodgate. His sacrifice bought his family and many others enough time to get out before some coward engaged the clamps to keep the manhole covers in the city from being blown off due to the water pressure."

He continued as he went down the walkway and then pointed to the last alcove on the left.

"That alcove there was the one that my family had. My dad, he was a technical expert. He'd served in the Army as a sniper and then as an engineer when lost his left eye. He knew what went where, how well it worked, and how hard to push it before it broke. My mom, she worked in the kitchen with some of the other women, making lunches for those working graveyard shifts, making breakfast for those just coming on the morning shifts. The kids like me and my sister, we got a chance to explore the canals and all the unoccupied alcoves. We'd all band together and 'map' the canal system. Sometimes we'd all pick teams and play War or Resistance in the tunnels."

"Now you're doing it for real." Lawson turned to the woman who'd spoke and nodded.

"Yep. It's kinda ironic really. I was always on the losing team and now I'm on the team that's going to kick the Rotarian's asses so hard they'll have to fart through their collars." A series of guffaws, Hell yeahs, Oorahs sounded off and he turned with a smile and then pointed to the bridge-like structure straddling the canal.

"That's the primary control center. Back in the early days of electricity, it had the basics. A few lights, some switches, and a few loudspeakers. Most things were still operated by hand. That's another thing they were trying to improve when the stopped work. When the place flooded, the wiring shorted out and all the lights, few as they were, flickered and went out, leaving the place in darkness. Thanks to Caldor, here, these old walls are seeing light for the first time in over a decade." Then a young man came up and looked at him.

"Is that why you asked me to come with the group Mr. Lawson, because I apprenticed as an electrician?" Lawson nodded.

"You catch on quick kid. Yeah. The reason I had you tag along is because, well...I _know_ the way into the city but remember that coward I mentioned who sealed the place down? Well he also triggered the electrics that powered the hydraulics and sealed off this cistern from the rest of the system in some half-baked, misguided attempt to save the city. All he did was save a section of canal that was never reopened and put more pressure through the main facilities."

"Is what you're saying what I _think_ you're saying?" Lawson nodded to Zafra, Caldor, and the others.

"Yep. I didn't just recommend the place because of the supplies. We get those old floodgates open, we've got our road into the city. Plus, with the size of the facility, the cistern has the potential to become our new HQ, should the event arise." Zafra looked at Lawson excitedly.

"Can you get the system working again?" He looked and nodded.

"Yep. First though, we need to restore power to the substation here. Once that's done, we check the old hydraulic lines and make sure they're intact and then we can open the old gates. Be warned, I was not lying about that section of canal being sealed off for a decade. Once we get that gate open, there's going to be a boatload of stagnant water, dead fish, and God only knows what else."

"Any idea where the short happened?" Lawson motioned over and then pointed at an alcove on a lower level.

"The substation that was responsible for regulating power was on 'B' Deck. However, the replacement parts were kept in a watertight safe in the secondary control station." Zafra nodded.

"Alright, and where's that?" Lawson looked around and sighed.

"It _was_ originally part of the main control system but, like I said before, it was part of the improvements that were never finished and had several weak spots. Spots that gave way when the flood came through. Debris from the center is probably strewn all down the canal." Caldor looked back, his tail ticking showing he was agitated.

"What are the chances that the safe is intact then? Wouldn't the flood have either destroyed the safe or perhaps washed it down another section that was sealed?" Lawson shook his head.

"Unlikely. It was a huge safe, like those you find in a bank. If the waters _did_ get it, it could only have been pushed a little ways along the route." Zafra nodded.

"Alright, everyone, you have your flashlights, one group will go with Caldor along the dry canal, the others will go with me along the top and we'll see if we can't spot the safe."

At that moment, one of the Partisans aimed his light down towards the ruined section of the control center and pointed.

"There! I see something metallic!" Zafra saw where the light was aimed and jumped down towards it, flaring her wings as she came down to the dry canal. As she landed, she heard a faint rattling and gazed slightly to her right and let out a scream.

Caldor immediately came down, his scales rediating light and his fangs shining as he prepared an attack simultaniously.

"What is it?! What's wrong?!" Zafra eased towards him and pointed with her tail to where the safe was. Lawson came down using the old rusted ladder and came to the safe.

"It's the safe alright, but what made you scream, Lady Zafra?" Following the point on her tail, he eased around the safe and fell to his knees in shock.

There, lying halfway pinned under the safe, was a human skeleton. The only identifiable item was a gold locket around the neck.

"E-Elsie...It's...my sister..."

Caldor came around and sighed and muttered smething before examining the skeleton.

"Looks like the pelvis is crushed...She may have been trying to get out of the canal when the station collapsed. The safe must have pinned her to the bottom as the water rose." He immediately rrealized what he was saying and who was nearby and quickly gazed away.

"I-I'm certain she didn't suffer...most likely the injury to her from the safe falling on top of her was what killed her...It is _highly_ unlikely that she was pinned under the safe alive and drowned...yes, highly unlikely..." Lawson nodded at the gesture and placed a hand on the skeleton's skull.

"I appreciate the thought Caldor, I really do...but dead is dead. Quickly or not, my sister was killed by a person's cowardice. I suppose it is some consolation that the bastard met the same fate. The operator, he realized his error in sealing the cistern and tried to reopen it but by that time the electricity had been shorted out and the entire place was dark. He likely never knew the second control room was failing until he was drowning. Plus, it gives me a small sense of closure at least. Now then, since we have found the safe, I suggest we move it to the substation and allow Mr. Watt here to get to work restoring power to the cistern." He then turned to the rest of the group and Zafra.

"Lady Zafra, for the safety, and health, of the group and yourself, please return to A Deck while Caldor, Watt, and I try to restore power."

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As Zafra and the group waited at A Deck, Caldor, Watt, and Lawson went into the substation, Caldor's scales illuminating the room and allowing for an easy examination of the old electrical components. Thankfully, most of the wiring and other components had held up rather well with the exception of a few shorts and a blown dynamo. Once that was replaced and started, the backup lights came on in the substation allowing the group to see what they were doing. Watt was looking over the electrical panel when he noticed something.

"M-Mr. Lawson? I can't read any of this!" Lawson came forward and sighed.

"I should have remembered that Lord James had all these panels and gauges made in Schildhaven. This is all in their language."

On the panels there were a series of red and white lights. The red were marked '_Gefahr_' and the white were labeled '_Klar_'. Lawson quickly ran through his memory and found the translations easily and then pointed at the lights.

"It's the same setup used on submarines. They call it a Yule Tree. Red, _Gefahr_, means Danger or Damage to Sections, _Klar _on the other hand means Clear or No Damage." Watt turned to him.

"White for green?" Lawson nodded.

"Yeah, okay we have...all white lights lit...that means there's no other damage to the systems. Alright, get over there and start the primary dynamo, it's an old crank start so you gotta put some muscle into it. Once it's going, you flip those three levers in numerical order." Watt looked at the levers and back to Lawson.

"Which is?" Lawson came over and tapped each lever saying the number.

"_**Eins**_, One. _**Zwei**_, Two. _**Drei**_, Three. Once those are flipped, grab hold of these two wheels, spin them both counter clockwise until the gauges read _**Bereit**_, Ready. Once that's done, give me the signal and I'll flip these four switches and that should, hopefully, turn the lights back on and allow us to use the control room." Watt nodded and went to the dynamo.

"On your count Mr. Lawson!"

"On three! One! Two! **THREE!**"

Watt grabbed the crank and started turning it as if his life depended on it. Slowly, the gauge on the dynamo marked _**Elektrizität**_started climbing upwards.

"Mr. Lawson! Passing...uh..._zehn prozent_!" Lawson turned to him, a smile on his face.

"That's ten percent Mr. Watt, no need to call it out, just crank."

Having now learned what the marks meant, Watt devoted himself to turning the crank harder. After what seemed like an hour, he gazed and saw the needle push past what he assumed was one-hundred percent.

"Full power Mr. Lawson!"

"Good man, now throw the levers!"

A whirring sound had started as Watt left the dynamo and moved to the levers. When he pulled the first one, there was a slight increase in volume and pitch from the dynamo. He ignored it however, and pulled the second and then the third, the dynamo getting louder each twice more. He then ran to the wheels and started turning, the gauges before him started rising as the dynamo gauge had done earlier.

As they reached full power, he stopped and looked to Lawson who nodded and grabbed the first switch.

"Readying Primary One!" He threw the switch, and lo and behold, lights started coming on in the canal. He went down to the second.

"Readying Primary Two!" This time, more lights came on and the substation was lit up with light. Caldor, seeing his ability was no longer needed, elected to conserve his remaining mana and watch the two humans at work.

"Readying Secondary!" Caldor heard something and glance to see lights coming on in the control room over the canal. Looking back, he saw Lawson reach the last switch.

"Activating Auxillary Dynamos!"

As soon as the switch was thrown, sparks erupted from the panel and Lawson bit back a startled curse the the last lever sparked and small flames leapt from the housing.

"Watt! Grab that extinguisher over there! We've got a blown fusebox!" Watt ran over with a rusty blue extinguisher and sprayed a rather foul-smelling water/foam mixture onto the panel. After a moment, the flames died down and finally subsided. Lawson gazed at the panel.

"Shit! I should have anticipated that that might happen..." Caldor looked to him.

"What was that?" Lawson grimaced as he gazed at the charred panel and switch.

"The Auxillary Dynamos. They're _supposed_ to keep the power going in the event of a primary failure. Basically, if the dynamo here dies, they're supposed to kick in and pick up the slack. Well, as long as the primary doesn't konk out we're in as good a position as we can be. Let's get to the control room and I can unseal the canal. Once that's done, perhaps we can get inside the city and see what we're up against."

At that moment, Zafra came down, a worried look on her face.

"Guys, before we do that, we've got trouble. Miles just came running in saying that they recieved information about some type of weapons launch. Something called V1."

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Whew. Okay everyone, finally got that chapter done with. Now I can take a short break before getting back to the story. My brother has the only working chainsaw around here so I've been having to use a woodcutting axe to clear the fallen trees and trust me it is hard work.

I can't believe my dad did this on a daily basis when he was growing up...add that to the list of things that continually amaze me about him.

Next Chapter: The Talson Express


	43. The Talson Express

Okay everyone, the weather is gone from this area (finally) however it seems It's left one heck of a warm spot behind it and the humidity ain't helping much. On another note, anyone who lives down here who has relatives who know what I'm talking about but man we've been dealing with a lot of things happening on these roads down here.

Just last week I damn near broke a tie rod in half on my truck when I hit a bad place in the road. Got it fixed and then I hit _another_ hole in the road and bust the suspension on the front left tire.

DOTD says they ain't got the funding to get things fixed and yet the parish wants to introduce a new tax which, though they say it'll help, I'm taking that with a grain of salt. They've played that song before, we danced to it, and the first thing they did when the tax passed was vote a pay raise for the city council, mayor's office, and left us out here on the rural roads hung out to dry.

They say politics is the term used for delaying decisions until they are irrelevant, and the louder we yell, the deafer they become...

But enough of my problems, I'll cross those bridges when elections roll around. For now, onto the story.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 42: The Talson Express

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OPERATIONS ORDER V1/L01

LAUNCH SITE L1A

PERMISSION TO BEGIN USE OF V1 ROCKET-PROPELLED BOMBS GRANTED.

TARGET CONFIRMED: ROYALIS.

BEGIN CALCULATIONS AND CORRECT AS NECCESSARY.

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The base commander at the old Talson Manor House read the message and turned to his officers assembled and smiled.

"It has begun. Operation Vengeance is authorized. Our target for our weapons is the capital of Syllia: Royalis."

The officers smiled excitedly and left. The commander allowed his smile to fall as he went to the balcony and gazed at the large scaffolds that dotted the large estate that they had occupied. The Talson Manor, home of one of the five families that were vassals of the de Launces, had been abandoned during the attack and, despite some light damage and an attempt by some people to loot the manor, the house was intact. Thanks to the prefab buildings that had been brought in, the manor had been quickly converted into a makeshift base.

Whereas troops had used tents for the first week, they now had barracks, a mess, a rec hall, even a latrine. All of which was set on the small hill around the manor house overlooking the scaffolds that each held one of the V1 Rocket Bombs. There were twenty seven of them.

And he was launching them all at Royalis. He subconsiously pulled the pendant from his neck and held it in his hand. He had become a soldier to defend his country, not kill civilians. Yet his staff were all transfers from the OAC. Soldiers who expressed similar opinions to his own were considered 'problems' and were 'monitered' by the OAC in the event they needed to be relieved and replaced.

Under the eyes of the OAC, religion was a forbidden subject. It was actually a requirement for anyone joining the OAC, which was merely an arm of Mechanos' own Onyx Guard, was to renounce all religion and swear sole and undying loyalty to Mechanos and the state. He could very easily be removed from this post for having this medallion out and praying.

"God help me and save those in harm's way. If I'd had any sense, I would have taken my family and left Gotha when I first learned of the Black Knight's defection."

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Zafra, Caldor and Miles left Lawson and the group to finish working on the aqueduct and returned to the mill and found all sorts of commotion going on. Partisans were arming their weapons and readying for a fight. Zafra turned and saw George coming twards her, his face grim.

"We intercepted a message to the enemy encampment at the old Talson Manor. They have been instructed to launch a strike against Royalis in an attempt to demoralize the people. Probably trying to show that even though the lines are stalled they can _still_ launch a formidable strike." Caldor nodded.

"Is there any way to stop them?" George shrugged.

"It is assumed that the V1 is some sort of flying explosive. Given that, I've ordered Hazard to start work on satchel charges. Thanks to the supply drops, we have enough DEX5 to blow a hole in the wall and drive a convoy through." Zafra looked down at the map and then back to George.

"So how are we going to get to the manor? The mill is here and the manor and enemy encampment is there, almost halfway across the city. That's a lot of ground to cover. How are we going to get our group halfway across the city? Even if it's all farmland, there's no cover, no safehouses. There's no guarantee we can stop their attack." George smiled and then unrolled another map. This one showed the underground canal systems that ran under the entire city.

"While Mr. Lawson works on getting us inside the city, the canals in Outer Launces are still in relatively good condition. Why risk our numbers when we can travel below ground. Here, there's an old service tunnel that runs past the aqueduct and continues on to the manor. What I don't understand is why it's so wide..."

"That's because like most ladies, Launces has her secrets." George turned to see Grant coming in and pointing to the map.

"The underground canals were not the only underground project being worked on. There was also a project to create underground railroads called 'subways' under the city. Your father had an apprentice who developed an electric locomotive. Thanks to Lawson who got the dynamo started, the old lines now have power again. They were supposed to be finished sometime around next year but well, with the occupation, not much work going on. Plus, they were wanting to complete the railway before they started creating openings and stations." Zafra grunted.

"So then, how do we get down there?" Grant smiled.

"Simple. Here, where the underground canal junction seven crosses almost right beside the subway, we use some DEX5 to blow a hole in the wall, cross into where the out-town station was under construction, and use the service train that should still be parked there to roll down the line to the manor which was going to be the transfer onto the south-bound rail line."

"Won't the enemy know that something is moving under their feet?" Grant shook his head.

"Doubtful, the subway was built deep enough underground as to not disrupt the lives of the people topside. You would need _extremely_ sensitive geological equipment to even detect the train." George nodded and then looked to Grant.

"Any idea if the tunnel is clear or that we can reach the manor before they launch?" Grant nodded.

"The tunnel is fairly new and was rigidly reinforced. It's doubtful that the tunnel is damaged and as for the speed of the train, it should get us to our destination provided that the dynamo at the cistern doesn't shut down. It would be in our best interest to try and see about going outside the wall to divert some power from one of the hydroelectric plants to power the underground systems. It wouldn't be noticable except for a slight increase in the power usage gauges." George thought for a moment and then sighed.

"Only if it doesn't put us in danger and only once we're clear of the threat these weapons pose. For now, let's get a team down there and start making our way to the manor. Caldor, Zafra, I hate to say it but I want the two of you to stay back here or see if you can lend a hand...paw, to Lawson at the Cistern. The sight of dragons overhead might make them panic and launch the weapons before we get there." Caldor snorted and then looked at George.

"And what if those flying bombs actually do launch? How will you shoot them down? You may not need _two_ dragons in the air but you _do_ need _one_. **Me**." Zafra gazed at him as if she wanted to say something but Caldor quickly continued.

"Zafra is more experienced with mechanical equipment than I am so she could either help you out in human form or she may help Lawson, however, she does not have a ranged elemental attack like I do and you do not have any type of anti-air weapons. If she goes with you on the ground not only could she get any problems with the underground train working, she may also come up with a way to stop the weapons from being used in the first place." Zafra paused with her maw open but then snapped it shut and nodded to George who frowned.

"I just don't like the idea of putting the two of you in constant danger. To an occupying force, a Resistance cell alone is a nuisance. A Resistance cell with two _dragons_, is a serious problem." Zafra sighed.

"You just said the answer. We _are_ Resistance, just like you and the others. The only difference is that we fight as dragons. The only human weapons that can harm us are high powered anti armor rifles and explosives. Regular rounds just bounce off our scales. You have us under your command, use us, don't treat us like a valuable comodity."

"What if either of you get hurt or your energy runs out? We don't have any health crystals or mana crystals to help you recover." Caldor snorted.

"I can recover my mana easily enough, as for getting hurt, give me something for the pain or to bite down on and sew me up like you would with a human. Besides, there's a fair number of females in the dragon species that actually are attracted to a male with battle scars." He flinched when Zafra batted him aside his head with her wing and he started chuckling.

"Then again, I've been wrong before. But seriously, I get hurt just sew me up and send me back out there. As for Zafra...uh...I'll do my best to make sure she doesn't come to harm..." Zafra prepared to bat him again when she realized what he said and flushed and backed down. George noticed this and tactfully averted his gaze back to the map.

"Alright, Zafra, you have a choice. Shift and help us on the ground or work with Lawson to get the cistern gates open. Caldor, I want you in the air as soon as we leave but I want you to remain hidden. If you were experienced enough, you could do what other light dragons like Shimmer can do and bend light around yourself to make yourse- Hey, where'd he go?" Caldor chuckled and reappeared right next to Zafra who gave a yelp of surprise and gaped at shock. She'd been studying the map and listening to George and hadn't noticed he'd vanished. Caldor grinned at George who was also amazed at him.

"You were saying?" George shook his head and dismissed them to ready his team and give Zafra time to decide what mission she wanted.

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Zafra sighed as she rested in the lair, getting what rest she could before George gave the order to sortie. She heard a rustle and saw Caldor come up next to her and lay down as well.

"Good idea, getting some rest. It's been a while since you've gotten a decent night's sleep." Zafra looked at him and narrowed her eyes.

"You watch me sleep?" Caldor chuckled and skook his head.

"No. I'm just an _extremely _light sleeper. The last time you managed to sleep without your tail or wings slapping me was the night after the supply drop. You've been restless. I'm no doctor or anything but it seems like you're worried about something." Zafra recoiled as if she'd been stung and immediately flushed.

"I-I'm so sorry. Why haven't you said anything? Ancestors...you must be twice as tired as I am if I've been keeping you up." Caldor chuckled.

"Hardly. Part of the Dracocorps training is endurance training. I've gone a week without sleep when on patrol. Afterwards I sleep like a rock but for the moment, I'm as sharp as a razor. Besides, I could never get a night's sleep growing up. I guess being a traitor's son has _some_ benefits. I was the subject of beatings, hazings, and constant attempts on my life. It all helped strengthen my endurance and help train me to be lucid at all times." Zafra maw dropped.

"You've _never_ gotten a good rest?" Caldor shook his head.

"I probably haven't what _you_ would consider a good rest; but I've gotten enough sleep in the past to help me along. Besides, why are we talking about _my _sleep? First off, we're in the middle of a war, in occupied territory. A good night's sleep is hardly number one on my list of priorities." Caldor then lifted his head and gazed at her.

"Why do you care anyway?" Zafra sighed and looked away.

"It's just, I've heard of dragons who simply fall asleep in the sky and fall to their deaths. The last thing we, as the Resistance need, is to have one of our best fighters, and the only light dragon in leagues of here, drop from the sky with exhaustion. Besides... I... I'm... _uncomfortable_ without some light nearby..." Caldor went wide-eyed with shock as he realized what she was saying.

"Y-You're afraid of the dark?" Zafra nodded shyly.

"I... I never got over it...once, as a joke, my brothers locked me in the Warfang library for a night. It was during a new moon so no light came in through the windows for my eyes to adjust. Every noise, every creak, sent chilld up my spine. When you sleep, you give off a faint light, not much, but just enough for my eyes to adjust and allow me to relax. As for my fears...well..." Caldor nodded.

"Family?" Zafra nodded.

"My brothers and sister...they must be worried sick for me. When I left Warfang, I promised to send them a message every week. I just...I worry if I'll ever see them again." Caldor sighed and started giving off a slight glow and smiled at her.

"Don't worry, for now, get some rest. You'll need it regardless of what you decide to do. I'll stay here and wake you when George needs us." He watched as she closed her eyes and then started breathing lightly meaning she was asleep. He then sighed and his eyes softened.

"As for you seeing them again, that's why I'm here. I'll make sure you aren't harmed. Anyone tries to harm you, they'll have to go through _me_."

Caldor allowed himself to fall into the half-doze that had saved his life time and again. When he had told Zafra that he'd never gotten a true sleep, he'd been truthful. These half-dozes allowed him to rest while still maintaining his faculties. However, while he was sharp about what was coming and going, he was oblivious to anything near him.

Had he been attentive, he would have seen Zafra smile and relax a little more and she eased her tail around and lay it over his.

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George came around the entrance to the lair and smiled slightly as he saw Zafra relaxing like such and then saw Caldor open his eyes and gaze at him, anticipating his orders. George nodded.

"It's time." Caldor nodded and extinguished the glow of his scales and then nudged Zafra who woke and yawned tremendously before shaking the sleep from her eyes and gazed at George.

"Give me a moment to shift and I'll be going with you." George nodded.

"I've set aside one of our M7 Hornet carbines and an SP01 silenced pistol for you. Stay near me, Miles, Lee, and Amber. We're taking thirteen of our number. Some have those M7s, others have the PR6M, I and three others have the S12A3, and Miles, being the physically strongest of us, has the RR4C, just in case we run into an armored unit." Zafra nodded and then shifted.

Caldor had to admit to himself, though her human form was different, it lost none of the attractiveness. In the Dracocorps, he'd seen the Dragoons assigned to him become slack-jawed idiots at the sight of an endowed woman. Zafra was indeed attractive by human standards and her curves transferred completely to her dragon form. He noticed he was gazing at her and saw George turning away and prudently illuminated his scales and turned his gaze away as she changed into the clothes that had been dropped with the supplies.

Moments later, he felt a tap on his scales and saw Zafra stand beside him with a smile.

"Let's go." Caldor nodded and rose to walk out of the lair when Zafra turned, a mischievious glint in her eyes.

"Caught you looking." Caldor suddenly went wide-eyed and coughed as she laughed and went down the path that led to the canal system. Once he recovered his wits and got over being flustered so easily, he groaned and sighed.

_(How the hell could I let myself slip? I mean, sure, she's a beautiful female...no, more that that, she's a beautiful person...still...she's the type of person who would fall in love with a hero...not someone like me...I believe the human term 'bastard' would apply to me except that I __**knew**__ my father, and he __**was**__ a bastard...perhaps it does...the son of a bastard is a bastard himself...I don't deserve someone like her...no.) _Caldor felt his heart throb and ache and cursed it for being able to wilt so easily.

_(I don't even know why I entertain such thoughts...all they do is hurt.)_

Every time he entertained such thoughts as love, peace, or happiness, the image of his mother, or one of the other adults when he was growing up, cursing him and the monster who had sired him, and, in the case of his mother, striking him with her tail blade until she finally decided that there was just no purpose in beating him senseless anymore and just left him alone. Abandoned at six, in a lonely cave near a dragon settlement that had long since seen it's days of glory and was now little more than what the humans would call a 'ghost town'.

He squared his shoulders, reaffirmed his resolve, and set off after Zafra. He caught up with her as Hazard was setting the small charge where Grant had indicated while George looked on. Knowing that in public, he was to be called Nick, he addressed him so.

"Nick, when do you want me to take off?" George/Nick, turned to him.

"I want you in the air as soon as we find out whether or not the train is down here and if it runs or not. I trust you've had enough time to recover your mana and can hide yourself in the sky until we arrive and start disrupting their plans. Your orders are to assist us if nessessary but your primary objective is to stop any of these weapons from taking off."

As Caldor nodded, Hazard yelled 'Fire in the hole!' and detonated the charge, showering the group with dust and some small fragments of stone. As the smoke cleared, Hazard peeped through the hole and whistled.

"Well look here everyone, I see a train here, and it sure does look nice." As George came up to him and gazed through the hole and saw the train, he caught a whiff of smoke and turned to Hazard and noticed something that made him start.

"Hazard! Your ass is on fire!" Hazard over his shoulder and started.

"Holy shit!"

Hazard took a running start and jumped into a barrel of fetid water near the track. When he finally pulled himself out of the barrel he gazed at his pants and huffed.

"Well, my old man always did say it took someone or something lighting a fire under my ass to get me to actually _do_ something. I guess this time it was literal!"

The group had a good laugh while Zafra and Grant inspected the train and the track. After a moment, Zafra turned to George and nodded.

"I think I've got the gist of it. The power generated from the dynamo is channeled into this line that is fixed to the roof. The train deploys a type of 'anchor' to the line and draws power from it, charging the batteries and thus allowing the train to move." George nodded that he understood.

"Can you get it working?" Zafra nodded.

"It's all too simple really. Get everyone on board and I'll start the train." George nodded and turned to the group behind him.

"Alright, you heard her, all aboard!" He turned to Zafra and lowered his voice to a whisper.

"I've always wanted to say that. Anyway, is it _really_ that simple?" Zafra nodded.

"Like Grant said, as long as the dynamo doesn't go out, we'll be able to move the train. Even if the dynamo _does_ die, the batteries will keep the train going for a little while longer." George climbed aboard the train cab and looked it over.

"Alright. This here disengages the brakes. This wheel is the throttle. This pushes the anchor up to the rail, and I guess these are the brakes." Zafra looked at them and nodded.

"There are to types of brakes. The Dynamic brakes which use power, and the Manual brakes which require a firm and constant hand on the brake levers. Alright, if I'm reading this properly, the first step is to hoist anchor."

There was a wheel on the roof that Zafra turned clockwise and the gear pushed the anchor upwards until she felt it give resistance and saw sparks shoot from the top. Moments later, the panels in the cab and lights in the single car behind came on.

"Okay, anchor is deployed. Batteries charging. Lights are on. Okay, next step is disengaging the brakes." George reached over to the brake lever and released the block holding it in the 'secure' position and nodded to Zafra.

"Next is to start the engine and then push the throttle to the desired power setting."

George gazed around for an starter and stopped when Zafra whistled and pointed to a hand crank sticking out from the wall.

"Makes since that the train would have a crank-start engine like the dynamo. It has to have an alternator that puts power back into the battery when they are used. Give that engine a few cranks and I'll set the throttle to ten percent to get it rolling." George nodded and leaned his head out of the window.

"Caldor! We're good to go, get in the air and fly a patrol over the site! If they launch before we get there, you have permission to engage and destroy." Caldor nodded and quick as a whip vanished into the tunnels heading back to the lair.

George turned back to Zafra who was just pushing the throttle up to ten percent. The engine gave a slight hum as it worked and the wheels groaned and protested as they were forced to turn. They squeaked and squealed, the suspension started clanging and clattering. George turned to Grant with a flat expression.

" The enemy would need _'sensative geological equipment' _to detect us, huh? All someone needs to do is put their ear to the ground to hear us." Grant gave a half smile an shrugged.

"Well if _you_ hadn't moved in over a decade you'd be creaking and making noises to."

Finally, the train started forward and Zafra gazed at the speedometer.

"Current speed is ten miles per hour. Looks like the top speed of the train is fifty. What'sthis red line on the thirty-five mark for?" Grant came forward and explained.

"That's the mark that indicates the speed limit for the underground tunnel. Though the train can easily do fifty, the track and tunnels are only safely guaranteed for thirty-five miles per hour. Any faster than that risks derailment." George and Zafra nodded and lsitened as the noises gave way to a slow clickity-clack as the train left the station and started down the line.

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Alright everyone, whew. Three chapters at once, huh? That's a new record I believe. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy.

Plus, for any of my readers in the Orlando, Florida area, my prayers are with you.

Next Chapter: Countdown.


	44. Countdown

Man, well, if I had any doubts that summer was here, they've been put away. I know it's only June and that it'll likely get hotter down here. I went outside and saw two of my dogs, Sissy and Hoss, who normally _hate_ water, standing in the creek up to their shoulders.

I guess they just wanted to get cool but I wouldn't rule out that they were looking for crawfish...

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 43: Countdown

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The electric train rolled softly down the line. On either side as they passed they could see evidence of how much work had been done before the funding dried up. Cast aside the tracks were old track sections and cross ties, pickaxes, hammers, boxes of what looked to be rail spikes, empty spools that perhaps once held the copper wires that now ran above them, giving the train its power. Despite that, the only sounds in the tunnel were the ones made by the train. Add the dim and flickering lights that were spaced out roughly forty feet from each other, the sights of old webs crosscrossing the tunnel in places...

...and the occasional _'skree!'_ as the train ran into one of the trench dweller spiders that made their homes in the tunnel.

George gazed at Zafra who made a disgusted face as she turned on the wipers in an effort to clean the green spider goo off the windows. He couldn't help but chuckle at his niece's expression.

"Want to lodge a complain with the Rail Transit Authority?" Grant chuckled as he looked to them.

"Wouldn't do any good. RTA washed their hands of the project when the funding ran out, remember? I doubt there's anyone left who remembers or cares that these old lines are still down here. To them it's a financial black hole that they'd sooner forget even existed." Zafra frowned as she heard another trench dweller bite the dust and more green slime get splashed onto the windows.

"I swear when this is over I'm coming back down here and I am _personally _going to crush every single spider I see down here. Maybe even bring Dad so he can burn a few." Miles gave a half smile.

"Well, it could be worse. The trench dwellers keep the insect, rodent, and other creepy crawly populations down. If not spiders, the tunnels could be filled with snakes." Grant looked to him.

"Snakes? Did you say _snakes_?" Miles looked to him and nodded which made him shiver.

" I _hate_ snakes." Miles chuckled.

"Well don't get the urge to put on a fedora and start swinging a whip around..._Junior_."

Grant gave Miles a one-fingered salute, folded his arms and went back to gazing out the window. Zafra rolled her eyes and went back to the controls and groaned as yet _another_ spider got splatted on the window. Behind her, she heard Miles chuckle.

"He won't have the guts to do _that_ no more."

She wondered how much trouble she'd be in if she tossed the large spanner wrench near her at Miles...

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Caldor flew among the clouds, light bending around his scales, making him invisible to the naked eye. This was a technique that many light dragons tried to learn but only few succeeded and even fewer mastered. _He_ was one of the few that had not only learned it but had also mastered it. He just never had reason to use it before now.

Known as 'Light Bending' or 'Shielding Light', the technique was simple: use mana to bend light around you, reflecting what was around you on your scales, and thus, to the untrained or unaided eye, you vanished into thin air. It was used by the light dragons of olden days to ambush prey and spy upon those who meant harm. One of the most successful uses was when a light dragon used it to hide in plain sight in a fort during some ancient war and then, without warning, reappeared and slaughtered all the enemies in the fort.

If anyone simply gazed up, they would see a sky lit by the orange and red colors of the sunset and some clouds. Only if someone _really_ focused they could see a slight distortion that indicated there was a hidden light dragon above them.

The best part of the ability was the mana drain. Compared to other abilities like the always deadly 'Piercing Ray', what humans called the 'Light Dart', and the nonlethal 'Blinding Flare', the Light Bending ability's drain on Caldor's mana was negligible. He could keep the ability going for the whole night and half the next day if he wanted to.

The Light Bending was in some ways similar to a Shadow Dragon's 'Hide In Shadow' technique.

As Caldor flew over the manor, he saw countless vehicles: small scout cars, trucks, halftracks. Plenty of soldiers milled about, some patroling the compound, others on break. Some were actually near what looked to be the mess tent smoking and he caught a glimpse of a soldier running from the tent with both hands near his crotch region as he hot-footed towards the place Caldor believed to be the Latrine.

He also saw soldiers wearing long blue and white coats walking from one of the strange weapons to another. They looked odd to Caldor's eyes.

The weapons resembled large bombs that were fitted with wings and what looked to be a small engine welded onto the back. They also appeared to be fitted to strange scaffolds that held them upright. There were others fitted to ramps that held them at a perfect launch angle. Vaguely, he wondered what sort of reactions he could gain if he decided to cause a few 'mishaps' here and there?

Perhaps a quick talon to a tent cable? That would garner a laugh as the soldiers within struggled to get out.

Maybe a small spark by the fuel depot? No...as jittery as some of them are, they'd be put on alert and _that_ might just force their worse case scenario.

As Caldor pondered this his gaze kept flicking up at the manor house and he spotted a large radio mast that seemed to have been hastily rigged to the side of the building.

_(I wonder...if that tower came down, how badly would their communications be hampered?)_ He magnified his sight to examine the tower closer and then saw something he didn't expect.

Behind the manor, there was a shed. And in that shed...

"Ancestors...I hope they have plenty of ammo..."

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Zafra stared out the green smeared window with a blank expression. The spiders had gotten so bad she had given up on using the wipers to clean them and settled for simply gazing past the green goop. George watched her and then looked over to Grant and Miles and sighed in boredom.

"Are we there yet?" Zafra turned at him with a gaze that promised, if she's been a fire dragon, to have burnt him to a crisp. He quickly coughed and turned back away from his upset niece and gazed out a side window.

Just then, Grant shot up, eyes wide.

"Hit the brakes!" Zafra didn't think, she just grabbed the brake lever and pulled with all her might. The brakes applied and Grant, who was still standing, went forward, rolled, and slammed into the control panel. Miles rose to help him up as George gazed at him.

"Are you out of your mind? What did you say that for?" Grant pointed to a marker next to the cab.

"That's the Talson Marker. It's the marker where Talson Station was supposed to be built and also marks the end of the line. In short, we've arrived." George nodded and then chambered his weapon but made sure the safety was still on.

"Get everyone out of the train. When we get topside, stay on alert." Grant came forward and unfurled a plan of the proposed station and lay it out on an old work table.

"There's two exits to the station. The primary here and the emergency exit further ahead. The emergency exit, I believe, comes up to the fields outside the manor while the primary exit comes up at the ruins of the old South Station. We'll be split up but we will also be on opposite sides of the manor." George looked at the map and nodded.

"The plan's alright but I have just one question. Zafra is the only one who stands a chance of making heads or tails of these weapons at first glance. Plus, Miles is the only one here with an anti-armor weapon and the knowledge to use it. What if the weapons are opposite of where Zafra is and what if a group runs into an armored target?" One of the Partisans laughed.

"If that happens, Nick, we'll just try to lure the tank to Miles so that he can blast the hell out of it. Besides, we've got Caldor above right? If there _is_ an armored unit, he could probably take it out easily. Still though, knowing the enemy, they probably have their officers housed in the manor and have the troops in the field next to the weapons. The Rotarians officers don't strike me as the sort that would allow weapons to be set up near their quarters and constantly have soldiers patrolling around." George nodded.

"Makes since. They probably have the weapons in the field next to and under the watchful eyes of the soldiers. There _has_ to be a way to draw some of them away allowing us to plant the charges on the weapons." Zafra looked to George, an idea coming to mind.

"In all likelihood, the specialists who know about these weapons are also housed in the manor and also might have some blueprints and other schematics lying around somewhere. If those lab rats are anything like elder Volteer, they have research notes all over the place. Finding those blueprints could give us an idea for a weak spot in the weapon and maybe even a way to turn them against the enemy." George nodded.

"Not to mention it would be a boon to our forces. If these weapons are being used elsewhere, they could give our forces an idea on how to either stop them on the ground or intercept them in the air." Grant looked between George and Zafra and nodded.

"Precisely my point. Nick, you take Lady Zafra, as well as Miles and a few of the group and take the manor. The rest of us will head into the fields and I'll try to figure out a weak spot that Hazard can set his charges." George looked to the radioman curiously.

"Why take Miles? Won't you need him if you come across an armored vehicle?" Grant shook his head.

"No. Hazard has not only some demo charges but also some anti-tank charges and landmines in his satchel. We also have some hammer grenades in case we have some light vehicles coming at us. More likely, if the enemy _does_ have any armor nearby, it'll be at the manor protecting the officers, specialists, and their schematics, equations, and other research intel." George nodded, seeing the reasoning behind this thought.

"Alright, but if the enemy _does_ have armor out there in the field, don't be heroes, set your charges and then get the hell out of there." Grant nodded.

"Understood, sir." At that moment, a young Partisan timidly raised his hand.

"Um...Nick...Sir? What about if the enemy has some who surrender?" George sighed, he _knew_ he'd have to address this sooner or later. Better now than to have them doubt later. He steeled himself and gazed at the young man and saw that the same question was on others minds as well.

"We are Resistance, not regular Army, Marines, Navy, or Dragoons or Dracocorps. We have no military standing, no intel, no reinforcements, and no place to house soldiers who surrender if there are indeed any who do surrender. The enemy is an occupying force and will not show you any mercy and will give no quarter. Likewise, we must do the same. I ask you men and women to harden your hearts and steel your resolves. We cannot afford nor allow prisoners. If we take someone prisoner, and they escape, and tell the enemy leaders where we are, that will hang us sure as if we surrendered ourselves." George remembered words spoken by a great man during a similar time when Syllia was at war.

"It is these times that try our souls and temper our resolve and strengthen our bonds as Syllians, and as people. We are the only hope for Launces at this moment in time. We must be united in our resolve and in our cause for you may rest assured, if we do not hang together when our city, our nation, needs us most, we will _all_ hang seperately." Grant nodded and looked at them.

"Partisans are not recognized by the laws of war. If we are caught, we will likely be tortured, interrogated, tried, and finally executed. The Rotarians will execute us in the same manner as the spies, pirates, and traitors of olden days: hung by the neck until dead." George nodded.

"It would also likely be a public hanging as well to show the people what happens when you stand against them. Although, some would also likely be executed by firing squad." Grant shook his head.

"High ranking partisans maybe, but for the rest of us, all that awaits us if captured is a hangman's noose and an eight foot drop. That's why, during the last war when the Federation occupied Launces, the common saying was: 'When you have six shots, and no hope of escape, give five to the enemy and save one for yourself'." The young man paled.

"B-But suicide is-" Grant raised his hand.

"A sin, yes, I know. I may not look it but I _am_ a pious man. But tell me something, if it came down to it, would you allow yourself to be tortured, to be used as leverage against your remaining family to rat out on Partisans? Would you endure all manners of torture that the Rotarians can think of? Trust me, I've seen most of the horrible things men will do to their fellow man for the sake of extracting information. Would you be able to withstand the pain? The agony? The humiliation? Or would you crack under torture and start telling them everything you know in order for them to stop the pain?" The young man turned to him.

"Sir, what would _you_ do?" Grant looked to George and then back to him.

"I wasn't built to be a prisoner. I'm a Reserve Army radioman and a Radio Announcer on the weekends. I know ciphers and codes to encoding and decoding all manner of military messages, this is something I _cannot_, under any circumstances, allow the enemy to learn. That's why I carry two sidearms." He drew two pistols, one was a snub nose revolver and the other was a small lump of steel that fit in Grant's palm.

"The revolver is loaded with magnum rounds, and this little thing here has one round. If I'm in risk of getting captured, I'm going to take this small weapon here and deny the enemy my knowledge and the pleasure of gloating that they caught a communications expert. But then again, that's just me. Failing that, I would expect any one of you, if you see me surrounded and with no hope of rescue, I would expect any of you to put a round through me."

The young man nodded and remained silent as the group dispersed, he chose to go with George's group and attack the manor. He muttered a single prayer as he followed the group to the exit.

A prayer that they would all make it back alive.

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Caldor watched with disgust as the tank trundled along slowly on it's monotonous patrol. Judging by the size of it, it had to be an MA7V. The oldest tank that was still being used, albeit as a trainer.

It was this tank and a few other older versions that had been dropped from the airships during the Warfang Siege in the Dalon Conflict. James de Launces himself had taken command of one and had led it into the battlefield and managed to drive back Dalon's forces who, despite a show of pure bravado, were absolutely terrified of confronting tanks that they knew their's couldn't match.

Indeed Dalon's tanks had been built to deal with dragons, not other tanks.

The MA7V was an odd looking tank to be sure when compared to the more modern designs. It had a unique shape, with the main gun fixed to the front and several machineguns around it. It wasn't very fast nor was it considerably well armored given the advancements of tank and anti-tank combat tactics and designs.

The tank could have stopped a high-powered rifle round or perhaps a low-powered cannon shell but nothing else. Still, it seemed that this one tank was the only armored vehicle present that could hamper the Resistance if they were unprepared for it. Other vehicles were mainly 'soft' targets like scout cars, trucks, and perhaps three or four halftracks. Despite himself, Caldor began to worry for Zafra and the others and began to figure out how best to aid the Partisans when the fireworks started.

The feedback from a loudspeaker got his attention and he looked down at the large broadcasting tower.

_"Attention! Attention! All soldiers, get clear of the scaffolds. We have received orders to launch within the hour. Engineers from all shifts are to report to the field immediately to begin final gyroscope calibrations and to prepare for installment. Countdown begins now with fifty-nine minutes and forty-five seconds to launch."_

Caldor would have paled if he hadn't been focused on keeping of the light bending technique. Still, they had just let slip the weakness of the weapons.

_(Gyroscopes, huh? No idea what they are but if they are all currently not installed, that means there is no danger to launch at the moment.)_

He scanned the area to identify the engineers and saw them making their way to the manor house with all speed while soldiers evacuated from the area and went back to their tents and barracks. He continued to look around and saw a sight that chilled his blood.

A small hatch opened up from the ground behind the manor house almost right in front of the MA7V.

And Zafra was the one looking up and around.

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Zafra's first clue something was wrong was when she heard a rumbling noise from behind her. She turned just in time to duck back into the hole as the tank rolled over the hatch, crushing it down into the dirt, preventing it from being closed again. George looked up and sighed.

"Well, there goes our escape route. Not much point of diving back down here when the door's open and anyone can simply come in." Miles nodded and the hefted the RR4C on his shoulder.

"Want me to scrap that tank, sir? It's one of ours and I can't bear the sight of it being driven by those Rotarian curs." George shook his head.

"No Miles, in due time. For right now, let's get into the manor house. Now, the sun has set and it's getting dark. If we are to have the best chance, we need to disable any alarms they've installed in the manor. That means cutting power to the whole building. Who has the wire cutters?" The young Partisan from before raised his hand.

"Alright Felix, you go with Miles and Edwards to cut the wires. The rest of us will wait for the lights to go out and then we'll enter. It's going to be dark in there so choose your shots and for goodness sake, make sure your suppressors are on." The men and women with him nodded and then rose one by one and started taking positions near the house. As Miles, Edwards, and Felix went towards the area of the manor house where power box was. As they reached it, the loudspeaker came on again.

_"Attention! Attention! Fifty minutes to launch. Fifty minutes to launch. Begin final preparations and final patrols."_

Miles nodded to Felix who slipped the wire cutters onto the main electrical wires and squeezed. The wires came apart with an audible _snap_ and the lights instantly went dark. Inside, the group could hear curses and several shouts of confusion and shock. Back with George, he opened the door, secretly switched his eyes to dark vision, and entered into the building as two soldiers came around the corner.

As the closest one saw the open door and the Partisans, he opened his mouth to shout an alarm but he and the one behind him were silenced by George's suppressed S12A3 submachinegun. Immediately after, the Partisans came in and started checking the nearby rooms, finding two more enemy soldiers who they silenced with ease. As Miles, Edwards and Felix came in, they shut the door behind them as the tank came around the house again on it's patrol.

George motioned for Felix and Edwards to come up and scout around the corner. As Felix came up, several gunshots rang out and the young man fell clutching his chest. George looked around to see a Rotarian soldier hefting what looked to be a heavy machinegun craddled in his arms. He just barely had time to duck his head before another burst took chunks out of the molding.

"All soldiers alarm! Partisans are in the manor! Partisans are in the manor!"

George growled angrily and swung his weapon around the corner in a 'blind fire' maneuver and emptied the entire magazine down the darkened hallway. He heard a scream, and then a heavy _thunk_ as the soldier who had shouted fell dead and the portable heavy machinegun was dropped. George reloaded the weapon and went around the corner to see if Felix was still alive.

The grouping of seven rounds that went through the young man's chest, almost directly over the sternum, confirmed the worst.

George rose and looked to the others behind him.

"No more mercy. Storm the manor, give no quarter." As soon as he said it, he rose and slung the weapon over his shoulder and examined the weapon the enemy soldier had dropped.

It indeed looked to be a modified version of the Rotarian MG32 heavy machinegun. The barrel had been shortened, the sights had been removed, the stock shortened, and a large belt had been linked to it to serve as a strap to hold onto the weapon, and an ammo can had been bolted onto the weapon to prevent having to sling a length of ammo around the arms.

All in all, the soldier who held this had the power of a heavy machinegun in a light enough package to be carried around by one man.

Noticing that he only had two magazines left for the silenced submachinegun, George had no problems slinging the heavier weapon up and making sure the weapon was ready to fire. He remembered stories about how the old Resistance used small, snub nosed, single shot 'palm' pistols called 'Poppers' to kill Federation soldiers so that the Partisan could steal the fallen soldier's weapon.

Essentially the Popper was a weapon you only used until you could 'trade up' to a more powerful weapon and was then discarded. It was hardly a wonder that so few were left and that they were prized by military collectors all over the world.

Either way, the stealthy approach was now flying out the window and George had to think fast. He remembered that Miles also carried a few DEX5 charges as well as homemade shrapnel mines and instructed him to booby trap the door as well as the cleared rooms. That would slow the enemy troops down as well as give them a chance to search for any valuable intel.

Advancing further, George noticed that there was a hatch open that led (presumably) to the old wine celler beneath the house. However, instead of his dragon sense picking up the smell of alcohol, he instead smelled smoke and burning paper and ink. He realized what it was and turned to the group.

"They're burning the intel! Down the celler, quick!"

George, Miles, and Zafra leapt down the hatch and almost immediately saw six men wearing white coats trying to stuff enough pages, papers, and documents to make the Encyclopedia Grand Maxima look like children's book. The lead man saw them and produced a small pistol and got one poorly aimed shot off before George cut them down.

Zafra ran by him with a fire extinguisher and put out the flames and pushed some of the papers away. It was then that a blueprint fell to her feet and she picked it up and handed it to George who glanced at the paper and scratched his head.

"What am I looking at?"

"It's a device known as a 'gyroscope'. It's a device that, once set, uses magnets and electrical currents to correct any changes that might result from jarring or shock. The only uses I know of them are in the large multi-engine aircraft to keep them from flipping upside down in storms." George looked at the diagram and then at the other papers on the table.

"Looks like the Rotarians figured out more uses for them that just that. I'm no engineer but it looks like they're using them as guidance devices." Zafra examined the papers and nodded.

"Looks like it. It appears to be some instructions here...let's see...Set gyro to desired course and altitude... hmm... that looks like an internal timer that adjusts the trajectory once the timer reaches a certain time." George and Miles looked to her curiously.

"Translation?"

"It means that they've figured out how fast these weapons fly and have worked out a timetable for them. The launch, the gyroscopes keep them stable for the duration of the flight, the timer counts down to the appointed moment. Once the timer reaches that moment, it throws the controls into a downward pitch that makes the weapon dive and impact the target. Going at top speed with a sizable warhead means that one of these weapons could bring down a building." George paled and scanned the papers.

"Any idea on how to stop them?" Zafra scanned through some more papers and smiled.

"Yes. There is a flaw. They cannot launch the weapons simultaniously, too much risk of a mid-air collision. Instead, they launch them one at a time. While they're on the ground, their gyros can still be reset." George then saw what she was planning and nodded.

"Reset the gyro on one weapon to loop back and detonate in the field..."

"...we set off a chain reaction that destroys all the enemy weapons before they have a chance to wonder what went wrong." Miles nodded.

"That's all well and good, but what weapon is going to be launched first?" At that moment, the loudspeaker came on.

_"Attention. Attention. Attention. The first weapon to fire will be V1-04. Repeat: V1-04 will be the first to fire and will be activated once all gyros are confirmed set and all personel are clear. Thirty minutes to Launch."_ Miles looked at George and Zafra's expressions and shrugged.

"Ask a question, get an answer I guess..."

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From above, Caldor could see the area below was now abuzz with activity. He had faintly heard the echo of unsuppressed gunshots and groaned inwardly to himself.

_(So much for taking a quiet appoach...)_

He watched as the soldiers took notice of the shots as well and started running for the manor. However, they made a mistake.

They were all running in the same direction and forming up with their fellows creating a line of soldiers running for the manor. Caldor eased down from the clouds and aimed at the group and readied his light element. The light started to glow as he opened his maw. His fangs parted as he fired eight light darts all moving with the group.

They never knew what hit them.

The soldiers in the group, at best, felt searing heat and maybe had their eyes blinded as the darts impacted. Caldor flew over and eyed the group as those who had not been directly impacted stared in astonishment as these darts of white-silver light that now stuck out of the ground. Caldor maintained his link to the spell, making the light grow brighter as more mana was fed into the darts. Even as he did this, the soldiers looked at the darts as if hypnotized by them. It was almost too easy. All he had to do was sever the flow of mana...

It was as simple as letting go of a rope that tethered him to the darts. Once he severed the mana, the soldiers on the ground learned why this light element attack was outlawed except during times of war. They learned why light dragons were the among the most feared and respected dragons in Syllia. They learned that a supposedly benign element that could be seen as a symbol of hope could be used to harm...to kill.

Not that they would benefit from it, nor survive.

The light darts exploded as he cut the mana off. Those soldiers not killed instantly by the pressure wave of the explosion were killed as the shards from the darts pierced their bodies, arced around, and impaled them again, and again, and again. The Light Dart was a technique that was made soley for inflicting mass casualties among the enemy and horrendous injuries among those who survived.

Not that often many did.

Those on the outskirts of the attack and had the bodies of their fellows to absorb the shards saw and felt their clothes, their hair, even their flesh, catch fire. Twenty-seven soldiers had been running for the manor to catch the Partisans. Of those, seventeen lay dead or dying, and ten were flailing about screaming as white-silver flames consumed their bodies. Almost humorously, Caldor's mind thought of them as torches that ran about on their own.

Caldor saw others coming up and saw their comrades burning. One by one, they fell, but they were no longer human. They were no longer even alive. The flames had consumed them entirely. The bones of those who burned fell in charred, jumbled piles, then turned to dust as the wind picked up. Moments later, the second stage of the attack kicked in. Those nearby watched in horror as thin blue trails arced their way up into the sky and were absorbed into the light dragon hovering above them.

The Light Dart attack not only killed enemies but it also restored a portion of the mana expended in the attack back to the caster. The flames that consumed the survivors of the explosion, and in fact the shards of the darts themselves, were made of mana. Once the shards had stopped arcing and the flames had burnt themselves out, that mana returned to the dragon responsible fo the attack.

For a light dragon to use this attack was to show a merciless nature, and will to do whatever it took to protect his or her comrades. Those who witnessed the fate of their comrades had either one or two reactions: fear or anger.

Fear was the easier to induce, and the most common, reaction. What human, who didn't understand one wit about magic, could stand there, watch their friends essentially be turned into mana and that mana be absorbed by the dragon who slew them? Anger was rare, but it was evident in strong-willed humans.

Judging by the reactions of those who had saw the attack and saw the finale, as well as the malodorous scent that they now stank of, it was fear they all felt. To a man, they turned and ran all the while shouting for the tank that was now rumbling around the manor to attack him, completely oblivious to the fact that, had he wanted to, could have done the same to the tank crew within.

It was _highly_ unlikely that the tank's antiquated armor would stop a light dart. Still, his mana was completely recharged, using the technique again would be like pouring more liquid into a glass that was already full. He instead opted for the light beam, the more commonplace technique that light dragons used and raked it across the retreating soldiers. As the light mowed down the soldiers on the ground, the loudspeaker came on, this time, the voice was frantic.

_"Attention all forces! Emergency command authorized! Begin countdown with what rockets are currently set! Start the timers for the launch!"_ Caldor heard that and inwardly cursed.

"Here we go."

With that, he angled towards the building that had all the appearance of a command center, intent on razing it to the ground.

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George cursed as he heard the announcement and then motioned for the others to get out of the manor.

"Zafra, take three here and head to the field and try and find the gyro for V1-04. We've _got_ to stop that launch!"

Zafra was already out the door when he turned and yelled that and three Partisans did a double-take before quickly running after her. She broke into a dead run just in time to see Caldor attacking the infantry trying to get to the manor.

"Zafra! Get down!"

She heard Miles' voice and turned just in time for him to tackle her as the tank fired its main gun almost point blank at their group. Miles and Zafra tumbled into a ditch that was full of foul-smelling water, the other two weren't so lucky as the shell landed between them. In the ditch, Zafra and Miles were showered with blood, gore, and pieces of body parts. Miles angrily eased up and felt his back and swore.

"I lost the damn bazooka!" Zafra looked out of the ditch and spotted the anti-tank weapon lying nearby. She looked at Miles and saw that he still had the bandoleer that held the shells for the weapon and used her earth element to make the smooth pebbles the weapon rested on start rolling, carrying the weapon towards them.

A moment later, the bazooka rolled into the ditch, much to Miles' elation and amazement. Not wasting a moment, he twisted the T shape handle in the back and pulled revealing the firing chamber, he then slid one of the 35mm rounds into the chamber, closed the breech, and twisted the handle again to seal it.

The 35mm B-12 round, often called the 'Brick' round due to it's shape, was tailor-made to pierce the armor of tanks and light vehicles. It was also the only time a weapon was designed around the ammunition. The weapon, the RR4C Recoiless Rifle, was made to eliminate the need for two or three men to use anti-armor weapons. In truth, the weapon is more like a large, supersized rifle than a bazooka. It was light enough for one person to heft it comfortably and, as per the name, the recoil was negligible.

Miles lifted the weapon out of the ditch and leveled it at the incoming tank. Obviously the driver of the tank saw it because the tank's left tread came to a dead stop as the brake steering was used to turn the tank hard right. Two small hatches on the barbettes opened up and the barrels of machineguns emerged and angled on him and fired. Undaunted, Miles smiled as he adjusted his aim on the tank, no longer aiming at the slanted front but now at the smooth side, Miles leveled the crosshairs over the Rotarian triangle that had been painted over the Syllian cross and squeezed the trigger.

As rounds kicked up dust as they snaked their way towards him, the firing pin in the base of the weapon (the firing pin is drawn or 'cocked' by the twisting of the handle and the pulling of the chamber) slammed forward into the firing cap at the base of the round. There was a slight kick as the round fired and a plume of fire erupted from the muzzle. With her enhanced sight, Zafra could see the round as it spead through the air towards the tank, striking it dead center where Miles had been aiming, punching a fist-sized hole through the thin armor plate.

Then, an explosion on the far side of the tank. Zafra could only stare in amazement as light from the command bunker on the far side of the field shown _through_ the hole the round had punched through the tank.

The machineguns stopped, the smoke from the exhaust seemed to thicken and darken and the tank slowly ground to a halt. Vaguely, she could hear men cursing boisterously. Now Miles noticed smoke starting to curl out from the top of the command box on top of the tank and hastily reloaded. Zafra looked to him curiously and he growled.

"Damn! I forgot that the MA7V wasn't that thickly armored. All I did was give those bastards a headache and perhaps scare the crap out of some of them. Once they do a damage check and realize nothing vital's hit, they'll go back on the attack. I've got to finish it off now while they're stopped!"

He leveled the weapon and fired again. This time, the round went up and crashed through the top corner of the hull near the rear. Judging by the debris that shot up into the air, Miles assumed he'd just took someone's head off and destroyed the engine at the same time. Then, thick, black smoke started pouring from the holes he made and the sound of men screaming could be heard. Miles paled as he rose, suddenly realizing what had happened.

If his memory was correct, the MA7V's fuel cell was housed almost right where the second round had gone in. The second round had struck the fuel cell, dumping fuel over the crew inside and the heat from the engine had been enough to set it off. The crew was burning alive inside the tank.

Without warning, flames burst from the top hatch, the rivetted plates started to glow. The paint started to crack and peel, the radiator exploded as the water inside turned to steam and forced its way out, blasting the radiator cap through an open hatch. Rivets suddenly popped free and shot across the field like red hot, glowing bullets.

Zafra watched as the hatches in the rear of the tank were thrown open and three men, the only survivors, scrambled from the tank, their uniforms and flesh still burning, screaming as they half-staggered, half-crawled from the tank, each breath they took to scream sucked in more flames, burning their throats and lungs. She couldn't bear it any more and rose to level her weapon at the group but felt a rough hand on her shoulder.

She turned to see a Partisan who had gone with Grant beside her, his face twisted with anger.

"Don't shoot. Let the bastards burn, they'd do the same to us given the chance."

As Zafra opened her mouth to reply, three gunshots rang out and she turned to see the three men drop. Grant stood in the distance, a grim look on his face, his revolver smoking. The man who had stopped Zafra rounded on him.

"Damn it Grant! Why the hell'd you have to do _THAT_?! They are the _enemy_!" Grant holstered the weapon and walked over to him.

"True, they _are_ the enemy. But if we do not show mercy, we are no better than they are. You said the enemy would do the same to us, _that_ I have no doubt, were the roles reversed. However, those men were burning _alive_. They were in no shape to do any fighting. What's the worse they could have done? Run at us? Try to set us on fire? They were so consumed with pain they couldn't possibly have had a single coherent thought!" The man growled, turned, and stalked away.

_"Primary preparations complete! All personel clear the area! Readying launch sequence now!"_

THAT brought Zafra back to reality as she turned to the rockets in the field and started running for them. George grabbed her and held her back.

"It's too late!" Zafra fought to free herself, wound up elbowing George in the face and ran for the field.

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Zafra quickly gazed left and right, trying to find the weapon that would start the barrage. She started to panic as she scanned the numbers identifying each and every weapon.

_"Thirty seconds to launch!"_

Zafra ran down a second row of weapons, glancing left and right as she did so. Spying something, she turned and ran down another row and glanced at the last rocket in the row and sighed with relief.

'V1-04'

Zafra climbed the scaffold, used her strength to pry a panel off and saw the gyro. Looking at the marks along the inner and outer rings, she carefully realigned them to the desired trajectory.

_"Fifteen seconds!"_

Zafra leapt down and started running as a bright flash and a thunderous 'BOOM' and saw a beam of light arc through a small building by the reinforced command bunker.

_"Alert! Alert! Power controls for the V1 weapons has failed due to damage sustained! Switching first fire controls to V2 weapons. Launch reset to fifteen seconds!"_ Zafra paled and cursed as she glanced all the way to the opposite side of the field where more of the weapons were as well as those few rigged on ramps.

_"Attention. Clear the V1 area. V1-04 is still live! Repeat: Weapon V1-04 is still live! Beginning emergency countermeasures to stop launch!"_ Then another voice came on the intercom.

_"V2 launch in ten seconds!"_

Zafra broke into a flat run to get away from the weapon. Suddenly, bullets started whizzing by as soldiers who had ran into the field to try and disable V1-04 manually opened fire. The intercom came on with alarm and furthermore, more voices echoed through.

_"Soldiers in the V1 area, hold your fire! Those weapons don't react well to bullets!"_

_ "Nine seconds..."_

_ "For the love of...all right, try the emergency override!"_

There was a loud buzz.

_"Eight seconds..."_

_ "Emergency Override controls not responding! They must have been damaged when the manor lost power!"_

_ "Then bypass it!"_

_ "Seven seconds..."_

_ "Bypass is not working! I have no connection to the weapon!"_

_ "Soldiers in V1 area, get to V1-04 and shut it down, __**NOW!**__"_

_ "Six seconds..."_

Zafra sighed with relief as the rounds stopped but then realized something. If the soldiers managed to shut down the weapon, all that Zafra had done to reset the gyro would be in vain. All the people that had died to stop this launch would have died in vain. She leveled her weapon and opened fire on the enemy soldiers, stunning them and effectively making them dive for cover wherever possible. Some, comically enough, even dove for cover behind other rockets.

_"Five seconds..."_

_ "WILL SOMEONE __**PLEASE**__ GET TO V1-04 AND __**SHUT. IT. DOWN. NOW!**__"_

_ "Four seconds..."_

Zafra kept shooting at the group. She didn't know how she knew, but she just _knew_ she was still in range of the launch blast from the rocket when it launched. She also knew that the weapons were too close together to allow her to shift to escape. Not that the enemy would grant her the time needed to shift anyway.

_"Three seconds..."_

A roar pierced the noise of battle, Zafra looked and saw Caldor flying towards her. Frantically, she realized what he intended to do.

_Two seconds..."_

Another buzz echoed through the intercom.

_"Damn it! Well, at least the weapon will be going towards Royalis anyway."_

_ "Easy for you to say Butz! __**YOU**__ don't have to file the paperwork!"_

_ "One second..."_

Against all hope, Zafra rose and started running again. Behind her, an orange glow started to illuminate the area. She knew it was too late. Then, she could have smiled.

_"V2 weapons launch, V1-04 launch...w-wait a second! Are these numbers right? Someone look at this!"_ A pause.

_ "T-These aren't the preset numbers the engineers put into the gyro! They've been altered!"_

_ "Altered how? Where the hell will this weapon go?"_

_ "If these numbers are right...Clear the field, __**NOW**__!"_

Zafra was knocked off her feet as the weapon fired. She was turned around and saw the flames erupting from the bottom as the weapon took off. The blast came barreling towards her and she squinted her eyes and prepared for the worst.

Except the worst never came.

She felt something wrap around her and then felt the ground fall away from her feet. She opened her eyes and gazed upwards and saw a silver scaled miracle.

"Caldor!" Caldor looked down at her and smiled.

"Hold on! I'm looping around to do a pass on those V2s, I still have part of my mission to complete."

Zafra felt the pressure and vertigo of a quick 180 degree flip and then saw a sight that made her blood run cold. In the distance, she could already see the smoke trails of several rockets as they angled away from Launces, clearly out of Caldor's range. Still, the rest were still on the ground, launching one or two at a time.

Caldor closed and unleashed a light beam on the closest airborne rocket, causing it to explode and detonating others around it as the debris fell on top of them. Caldor looked down to Zafra.

"What did you do to that first rocket?" Zafra smiled.

"Wait five more seconds."

A loud roaring noise was heard above them. As Caldor zapped another rocket out of the sky, he saw the rocket Zafra had sabotaged do a reversal mid-flight and angle down towards the field it had launched. The people in the command bunker were losing their minds.

_"Someone, quick! Trigger the radio self-destruct!"_ A loud buzz.

_"No good! It's not responding! I think the radio aerial has been destroyed!"_ Caldor smiled even wider. He spoke in an innocent tone, easily getting a laugh from Zafra.

"Thought it looked important so I broke it..."

_"Execute secondary charge!"_ Another buzz.

_"It's no good! Nothing's responding!"_

_"Oh my God! It's completed the loop! __**INCOMING!**__"_

The rocket barreled down into the field and exploded, setting off the chain reaction Zafra had intended to happen as the firestorm spread, engulfing more of the flying bombs and detonating them as well. Then, an unexpected treat. One of the weapons on the ramp launched and flew straight as an arrow towards the command bunker, burst through the wall, but then stopped.

There was a pause and then...

_"Damn Partisans..."_

...The rocket exploded, lifting the top floor of the bunker clear and forcing the forward wall outwards as the fireball leapt upwards. Debris also came down on the manor house, setting it ablaze as well.

Zafra looked up at Caldor and smiled softly.

"Thank you. For saving me." Caldor chuckled.

"Any time. Besides, your uncle would have my hide if I let anything happen to you." Zafra then remembered George and chuckled nervously.

"Well, in _that_ case, I may need protection from _him_." When she saw Caldor's curious expression, she explained which caused Caldor to burst into laughter.

"Well in that case, should we hurry back to the lair?" Zafra eased up in Caldor's grip and surprised him by planting a kiss on the side of his muzzle.

"I think I like that idea."

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George held his nose with a handkerchief as he watched the field, the manor, the bunker, and the remaining weapons burn. He then gazed up to see Caldor taking Zafra in the direction of the lair and nodded.

"Alright, back to the train. Grant, full speed back to the lair, I want to alert Royalis that some of the weapons are airborne."

Grant nodded he understood but also chuckled both at George's bloody nose and Caldor and Zafra.

"Thinking about stopping them?" George turned to gaze at Caldor again and shook his head smiling.

"No. Zafra's an adult and capable of making her own decisions. I doubt they'll do anything that they know Thera and Ignitus wouldn't approve of but, as long as they're together, let them build up a trust to each other. Maybe being close to Zafra will be good for Caldor..."

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Whew! Sorry for the delay everyone! Been busy around the house, also busy with my dogs. Turns out taking care of pets is great for stress relief. However, not so relaxing is the fact that the dogs tend to wander. I'm seriously considering microchiping them to see where in the blazes they roam to.

Alright, taking a small break from the Launces Resistance, the next chapter goes to Bertram in Royalis and also introduces another 'minor' character: Caldor's mother, Elisari.

Oh, also before I forget, the Popper mentioned earlier in the story was a take on the 'Liberator' .45 pistol that the Allies droped en masse to Resistance fighters throughout occupied France in the Second World War. These small, smooth-bore, single-shot pistols were made of steel, meant to be easily fit into a pocket or concealed in a hand, and used on lone enemy soldiers in order for the Resistance to claim their weapon. These little weapons were quick, cheap, and easy to produce and most simply discarded them after they secured another weapon. This has made the .45 Liberator an extremely rare collector piece.

See, American television _actually_ teaches you something every now and again.

If you would like to see concepts of the story, please visit my DeviantART page (LauncesMechanist705). The weapons featured and their concepts are: Resistance Weapons 1 and Syllian Training Tank MA7V (Captured). They're in my gallery.

Next Chapter: Broken Arrow.


	45. Broken Arrow

Okay! Let's get the ball rolling. Now that July is here and I'm free of my nephews for a whole week, I can _finally_ work without them constantly looking over my shoulder and shooting either water guns at me or those nerf guns.

Man, I cannot believe I've already seen another birthday. Time just seems to go by too quickly. Anyway, on with the story!

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 44: Broken Arrow

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The slow steady ticking of the grand clock in the Audience Chamber was the only sound. In the Royalis Castle, home of the Syllian Royal Family, there were few people present. James and Lysa, naturally, in their places on the thrones. To James' left was his son, Bertram, and his mate Flaire. On Lysa's right was their daughter, Magothera, and her mate Ignitus. Beside them were Spyro and Cynder looking on with mixed expressions. All their eyes were fixed on this lone dragoness in the chamber with them, a stranger, and yet, more well known than most other Dracocorps females.

Or rather, ex-Dracocorps.

Elisari the Scarlet Flame, once one of the best aerobatic fliers in the Dracocorps 7th Elite Flying Wing, a dragoness whose power and determination and unwavering loyalty to her comrades had earned her the nickname 'Mother' among the younger members of her group. She was a dragoness whose mating to a Light Dragon had both shot her through the ranks to executive commander...

...and his betrayal had seen her fall just as fast, if not faster, than her rise.

She had been dismissed from the Dracocorps without a second thought, her six month old hatchling, Silverus' son, barely able to fend for himself. She became the polar opposite of her original behavior. Where she had been kind, she was now cruel. Where she was lenient, she was demanding, a perfectionist. Where she had been maternal and warm, she was now cold and callous.

She had never said a kind word to her son after Silverus' betrayal. Nor had she done anything to protect him from the scorn, the hatred, the rumors. Quite the opposite, she had done eveything she could to distance herself from Silverus' 'legacy'. When beating the hatchling hadn't produced the desired effect, she simply abandoned him in their old lair. The lair that still stank of Silverus' scent.

Caldor had never once sought her out after that. Perhaps once or twice she had caught a glimpse of him. Never more than that.

Despite the talk and the insinuations of the others, she had never once thought of killing him while he was a hatchling. No. Despite everything that had happened, she knew she still had a son.

And now, that son was trapped behind enemy lines, evidentally protecting the daughter of the very dragons who had brought about Silverus' downfall, arrest, and subsequent execution.

She could have hardly believed that the summons to appear before the Royal Family true until she had heard it from the King's own lips.

She stood there, legs trembling, unsure, worried. In the back of her mind so many things had raced through her head. She began to think, unwillingly, of Caldor. The attempt she had made to convince others that Caldor was _not_ Silverus' child. Yet, time after time she was confronted by the fact that at times, the _entire_ settlement could hear them going at it at night. They recalled how she had trumpeted her pregnancy throughout the hills and how she all but drooled over Silverus.

She could never bring herself to tell the truth. The simple fact was that no one wanted to hear it.

She gazed up at James de Launces, once Archduke, now King, of Syllia. He was King. He was _her_ King, and Lyseerah was her Queen. If anyone would possibly listen to her now, perhaps, just perhaps, they would.

Before she could begin, or even for that matter before James could speak as to why he summoned her, a messenger came running in pale and exhausted, waving a single sheet of paper back and forth wildly. He presented it to James who skimmed through the contents of it. Elisari saw James pale slightly and his eyes go wide as he rose and turned to his youngest son.

"Bertram. Ready your squadron for an intercept mission immediately! The Launces Resistance reports that an enemy long-range attack using these new 'rockets' is inbound. Thanks to Caldor and Zafra they managed to destroy most of the weapons but still enough made it airborne to do considerable damage to the city if they reach us. You have permission to use the jets and call upon any fighter group you believe would be of help to you." James then turned to the messenger who had hadn't yet dismissed.

"Get to the air raid siren in the castle and turn it on."

The young man saluted and ran past the throne and up a staircase marked 'Air Raid Central Alert'. Bertram meanwhile ran by her and left the castle to ready his force. Once the noise had died down, James turned his attention back to her and motioned to her that she could speak. Elisari felt her previous nervousness return.

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The air raid sirens were now blaring loudly throughout the city. Bertram, knowing it foolish and _very_ dangerous to fly when an air raid was issued, drove through the vacated central avenue on his runner. To his left and right he could see people pulling blast shutters, metal plates that were pulled down over windows and doors to prevent shrapnel from bombs from destroying the store or home nearest, grabbing their children or helping the elderly to the nearest air raid shelters, or aiding those having trouble with the blast shutters shut and secure them before heading to the shelters themselves. He had to slam on the brakes once when a group of civilians ran across the street, heedless of the traffic lights.

Thankfully for the rest of the trip, there were no further delays. Once he reached the airfield, the base commander's aide approached him.

"Major, what's with the alert?"

"Rotarian special weapons based in Launces have been deployed. The Resistance in the area managed to destroy most but not all of them. They appear to be land-based versions of those rockets that destroyed some of Peninsula City last week. As per orders from the King, the 1st Air Wing is to scramble immediately. I'll brief them but I need the jets fueled and ready. We'll head out to intercept but in case any make it past us, we need a CAP over the city." The aide nodded and ran to the tower while Bertram went to the barracks.

Much to Bertram's delight, he found his entire wing already geared up and ready. Dieter, recently approved for the Syllian rank of Major and made Bertram's new XO, came forward.

"What the situation?"

"Rotarian weapons stationed in Launces have been launched against the city. According to the Resistance, they appear to be land-based versions of the rockets the _Gigantic_ used against Peninsula City. We are to use the jets to go up and try to intercept the incoming weapons." Dieter nodded.

"I heard of this when we were in Rotiart. Mechanos asked the population to endure a slight raise in taxes to pay for a new type of weapon platform that, if successful, would eliminate the need for bombers to fly over hostile airspace. There were two varients back then. V1 was the original which was little more than a flying bomb. A rocket pushed the bomb up into the air and it glided to the target, dived, and detonated upon impact. The second, the V2, was more dangerous. It was twice the size of the V1 and was what they called a 'true rocket' It was fitted with either a 1,200 pound warhead or a 1 Ton warhead, it has a guidance system of some sort, and a large motor with enough fuel to get it up into the air. If you want anything more detailed than that, you'll need to capture or find a rocket scientist." Bertram nodded and then looked to the others.

"Alright, you heard him. These things are basically flying bombs. If you have to engage, do so at a distance. Dieter, any idea how fast they are?"

"The V1s are roughly as fast as our jets but the V2s were still in testing last I heard. From what I heard though, they can fly higher than jets and are three-times faster. To intercept the V2, you need to see the contrail of the rocket and try to lead it." Bertram gave him a flat look.

"See the contrail? At night?" Dieter shrugged.

"The purpose of the V2 was to be unstoppable and deal catastrophic damage to the enemy. Just one of those smaller rockets brought down a skyscraper. Granted it was the only one in Peninsula City but what about here, in the capital? The castle itself is skyscraper sized, how many other skyscrapers are in the outlying districts?" Bertram paled.

"Almost two dozen; and if _any_ of them go, civilian casualties will be enormous." Wolff scratched his chin for a moment, and then looked up.

"What about the Dracocorps? Could they assist? Maybe they could bring them down at low altitude?" Bertram shook his head.

" I don't like exposing the Dracocorps to that level of danger but, sadly, we have no choice in the matter. I'll put a call in to the Garrison Commander at Drakesfort. The most effective would be lightning, ice, light, and electric dragons. Maybe even storm or wind dragons." Dieter nodded.

"Indeed. They are built possibly to prevent small bouts of turbulance but perhaps they can be brought down with similar conditions that can bring down an aircraft..." Bertram looked to Dieter.

"Are you talking about having the dragons create a storm?" Dieter shook his head.

"No. Not _that_ small anyway. There is a rare weather system that occurs in Rotiart every once in a while. Syllia has hurricanes that come up from the south, Callinar and the Blue Isles have typhoons that come from everywhere all at once. Rotiart has superstorms that make the strongest hurricane you have on record look like a midsummer breeze. I'll be damned if I know what causes them but once upon a time a tribal mystic from some far off forsaken corner of the world said the energies of the land were severely off balance. Maybe it is or maybe we just have a piss-poor sense of where to have a nation, either way, the RAAF is trained to be able to fly in such weather, should the need arise." Bertram sighed.

"So...we create a superstorm to bring them down without having to burn fuel trying to chase and lead them...what if the storm fails? Creating that big a phenomenon takes a lot of mana and will not dispel itself for some time."

"If that happens, Bertram, take your wing and intercept the lower flying V1s. I'll take Wolff and the others and try to fly through the storm to the V2s." Bertram remained silent but motioned for the others to get their aircraft ready. He then walked up to Dieter, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You _know_ that we don't know how Rotarian planes are built. How will we know if our Syllian aircraft won't simply break apart once you get into the storm?" Dieter smiled a crooked smile and walked past him to the door.

"We don't. But you let me worry about that little part, eh?"

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Moments later Bertram sat in the cockpit of his J33; his breath hammering as he awaited news from Drakesfort as well as awaiting the word to launch. In all, 47 jets sat idling on the runway. Naturally not all of them were from his wing exclusively. The Royalis Rapid Aerial Guard (RAG for short) was the second full fighter wing equipped with the new jets that, though still rare and difficult to produce fuel for, were becoming more and more prevalent. More astonishingly, in lue of working J33s, Dieter and his group had been reissued their old Rotarian jets, repainted in Syllian colors, and modified by James de Launces personally to compensate for the aircraft's shortcomings.

Bertram didn't get the full list but apparently the basics were all there. Replacing the Rotarian engine with a more powerful Syllian engine. Removal of the heavy rotary 30mm cannon which freed up space for two additional 20mm cannons. The wood construction, after being disassembled to allow for inspection by the OSS and the RAF Flight Engineering Corps, was sanded down to allow for more practical defences. The Rotarian jet, now deemed the J34-R5, withstood Syllian scrutiny with a special aluminum/ titanium armor covering the wood body. The lightweight aluminum protected the wings, nose, and tail but titanium plates shielded the pilot, engine, and fuel tank from direct hits.

It would not be as maneuverable as the solid wood jets, but at least the jets no longer had a tendency to turn into flying pyres should the tanks catch fire or 'brew up' as the pilots who saw them said. Syllian aircraft followed a principle that James de Launces himself was famous for saying:

'It should be able to damage enemy assets and out perform anything the enemy sends after it, but if it doesn't get the pilot home alive then the entire design is worthless. Pilot survivability is the foremost requirement for _anything_ I place my seal on. Everything else is secondary.'

As Bertram checked his gauges and made sure nothing was malfunctioning, his radio came alive.

_"Attention. Hawk Eye to Paladin, have detected multiple inbound foes closing fast at medium to high altitudes. Looks like those weapons you told us about."_

"What about Drakesfort? Have they any fliers who can help?"

_"That is affermative. Sky Lord Zakwel has just ordered every dragon or dragoness with the elements and abilities you specified to take off immediately. Currently, we have thirteen storm dragons starting to build up clouds for a real bastard of a maelstrom. We also have six lightning dragons, three electric dragons, seven wind dragons, and three ice dragons. Unfortunately the only light dragon we have nearby is the dragoness Aurora and she's on maternity leave and grounded."_

"Understood. Just hearing those numbers gives me hope. Do we have the green light to launch?"

The last was directed at the tower and, in answer, the lights near the runway flashed red twice, orange once, then lit solid green. Bertram keyed his mike for squadron comms.

"All fighters, full power!" The aircraft started roaring down the runway when the radio buzzed again. At that moment the base commander came on the radio.

_"1st Air Wing and Royalis Air Guard, scramble! Scramble! Once in the air, proceed to area outside of city and hold until we assertain the effectiveness of the storm."_

"Paladin copies. Hawk Eye, what's the enemy's distance?" Bertram pulled back on the stick and the J33 angled upwards into the darkening sky.

_"They are...holy...fifty miles out and closing fast! If you go full power as soon as you take off you'll meet them over Battery Hill. Note, the AAA at the Hill have been ordered to assist. They'll be focusing on some of the lower flying ordnance leaving you fellows clear for higher altitude attacks."_

"Thanks for the heads up. Alright, any word on that storm?"

_"They're starting it now. Once you reach the engagement zone the storm should be going full blast. Watch out for turbulence."_ Bertram signed off and angled his aircraft in the indicated direction.

"All aircraft form up on me. Time to go stormchasing."

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Maelstrom hovered in the air, surrounded by his storm dragon kin. The pale moonlight reflecting off his grey and white tinged black scales, a symbol of his age and experience. He always felt at ease when he was molding clouds. The nimbus, sirrus, stratus, all of them were like clay in his claws, metal under the blacksmith's hammer. He always enjoyed human music. The thunder of the percussion, the roar of the brass, the whipping of the woodwinds. Like a human composer in an music hall, _this_ was his arena. He was by far the oldest and largest of the storm dragons serving in the Dracocorps, some would say he was their Elder, their Conductor, and the others around him were his musicians.

Like a great maestro directing a symphony, he began to direct his fellow storm dragons. First, the loose clouds would have to be pushed together. At the wave of a forefoot, three dragons started swirling around a mass of clouds, the air currents pushing the clouds towards one another. Next, the clouds had to be seeded for the rain. To that end, he motioned for three more storm dragons and one of the ice dragons to start scattering snow and mana into the clouds.

It was with immense satisfaction that Maelstrom saw the clouds turn from a milky or 'virgin' white to a dark grey and then to solid black. For a moment he worried that _perhaps_ the storm dragons he sent to seed the clouds had overdone it but he quickly dismissed the thought. Time was of the essence, there was no need for precise calculations. So what if the wind blew a 'little' harder or the rain fell in greater volumes? _THIS_ was the greatest undertaking he and his kindred had ever been charged with and by the Ancestors he was going to make it a storm for the century!

He motioned for the wind dragons and the reminder of the storm dragons to start moving the winds and pulling more clouds into the newly born eye of the storm. All around him the clouds whipped and spiraled around while he was in the middle of the eye. The sky directly above him was clear, he could see the beautiful blues and blacks of the night sky dotted with stars and other astral bodies. Ever the romantic, he wondered what the storm would look like from far above, past the sky where the air was thin and flying next to impossible.

A final wave brought in the lightning and electric dragons who soared on opposite air currents, the lightning dragons created a 'positive' charge at high altitude while the electric dragons created 'negative' charges at low altitude. He gazed upwards at the clouds swirling and a large smile split his muzzle.

_This_ would be the defining moment that showed all of Syllia that storm dragons were more than just simple weather workers who brought in a rogue storm once in a while to prevent droughts or clear bad weather to give rescue teams a chance to find someone who had been lost. The first anyone had heard of storm dragons was sadly, a bad incident, Rayxor, a young storm dragon intent on bringing his species into the light whether they wished it or not, signed on with the Dracocorps as an electric dragon.

He was under Silverus' command and was the dragon who had attempted to kill Thera and Ignitus the night before Ignitus was set to dual Silverus.

It had brought the storm dragons into the light but not as Rayxor had intended.

Maelstrom, saddened to see his race reviled because of one bad drake, tried his hardest to make people see that storm dragons were no more evil than their brethren. For the most part, he had succeeded. A few rains during the hot summer months, some snow during the winter holidays, a few calm clear days, perhaps some overcast. It was not uncommon for storm dragons to be employed not just by the Dracocorps but also as weather and climate tenders around large farms. The arrangement was beneficial to all, the storm dragons were given enough space to start a family, given food and permission to hunt if they so desired, all for ensuring that the large farms had almost perfect weather year round to produce the highest yields.

The storm was at its strongest now, all it needed was a 'storm-breaker' bolt to connect the positive and negative charges and set it off. Maelstrom opened his maw, built up energy, and fired a pitch black bolt of lightning directly into the cloud bank. The black bolt caught the positive and negative charges, forming more lightning, and exploded in a brilliant flash of light and near deafening thunder. He immediately felt condensation on his scales, closed his eyes and smiled as the wind blew the rain into the eye of the storm where he was. After a moment, he noticed Zakwel coming towards him, muzzle split with a grin.

"Maelstrom! That was _very_ well done! So, what's the current windspeed?" Maelstrom went wide-eyed for a moment and coughed nervously.

"I... uh, I thought time was of the essense so I told the others to measure it as best they could themselves..." Zakwel stared at the elder with a flat expression.

"You mean to tell me we could have a full-blown tempest heading for Royalis?" Maelstrom looked at the clouds and sighed.

"It's a possibility...judging by the way the wind is blowing...I'd estimate windspeed at just over one-hundred five miles per hour... and getting stronger..." Zakwel looked at the storm and saw the dragons flying into the eye with them, various expressions of horror and shock on their faces as they raced to escape the wing-breaking winds.

"Well, as the late Jonathan Havvers would have said: 'We've screwed the pooch this time...'." Maelstrom coughed nervously and gazed at the clouds.

"It should die down in a few hours or so, long before Royalis is in any danger. Besides, wasn't the plan to create so much turbulance that the weapons either collided midair or crashed?" Zakwel nodded slowly.

"Let's just hope that's all that happens..."

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Bertram soared through the sky, closing the distance to the intercept zone. Except for the occasional flash of lightning, there was no other source of light in the sky. Even the moon was covered by huge storm clouds. He gazed around to locate the landing lights of his other aircraft (something they had decided to do to locate each other in the night) and heard the radio come on.

_"Paladin, come in! This is Battery Hill! We are unable to send up any fire!"_ Bertram, unaware of the strength of the storm they wee headed towards, keyed the radio with an irritated edge.

"Why the hell not?! We need all the help we can get to stop those weapons and protect Royalis!" The reply was glum.

_"We can't man the guns! The winds down here are so strong they're knocking even the heaviest of us off our feet! We've already had to bring three to the base doctor for injuries from being picked up and blown into something! I don't know what those dragons were thinking, but the CO is about ready to raise hell!"_ Bertram, suddenly curious keyed the radio.

"Battery Hill...what's the wind speed of the storm?"

_"Wish I knew Major. The weathervane went flying a few minutes ago. Last windspeed indicated was...one-hundred plus."_ Bertram paled.

"You mean to tell me the wind is gusting at over one-hundred miles per hour?!"

_"That's affermative...oh boy...now the XO is mad, he was in the latrine when the wind broke it free and took him for a ride...phew! What a stink."_ Bertram frowned as the radio cut off. He switched to squadron radio and informed them about what he learned. To say they were stunned was an understatement.

_"Major, how the hell are we going to do our jobs now? These aircraft are built like flying tanks but I doubt they can handle winds like that."_

_ "I second that, I hate to say it but we should return to base. Regulations forbid flying in severe weather for a reason."_

The second transmission was from one of the RAG fighters flying with them. Bertram sighed, confirming his worst fear. The RAG was a Home Guard Squadron, not to be deployed in combat unless the city they were assigned to was under attack. Furthermore, they were unlike regular combat pilots in that they only trained in pristine weather. They never had to scramble in the middle of a snowstorm, or launch off a pitching, heaving carrier deck, or take off of a windswept and rain battered runway.

To put it bluntly, and in Reyson Havvers' own words, they were nuggets, rookies, plain and simple. Bertram keyed his radio.

"If you RAG boys want to turn tail and head home then so be it. However, if the storm disperses and the incoming threat hasn't been eliminated, you'll have, maybe, a fifteen second window to intercept them before they impact their target. Remember, I've seen one of them take out a skyscraper and according to the reports, these weapons are bigger than the ones encountered over Peninsula City. What would happen if one of those things impacted the Castle? Or for that matter, the Royal Army HQ, or the Airfield? How many of the people you swore to protect are you going to sacrifice to play it safe?"

There was no reply, but none of the lights from the RAG force with him deviated, dove, or turned around. As Bertram turned back around to scan the skies, he saw a flash of lightning that illuminated the clouds ahead of him and he saw them, faint shapes cutting through the clouds at high speed.

"Enemy flying bombs spotted, all fighters, engage!"

No sooner had he said that then the front of the storm, with all the wind, rain, thunder and lightning, and even hail, hit them. The turbulence was bad enough that Bertram was sure that, if he hadn't been restrained in his seat, would have thrown him through the bulletproof canopy covering the cockpit. He heard a fair amount of explicitives, profanities, and other colorful choice phrases as the others fought to control their aircraft. Suddenly, there was a burst of static as a pilot from the RAG came on, voice frantic.

_"This is Eagle Four! I've lost power to the starboard engine! Shit! Water got sucked into the intake and shut it down, I've got a flame out!"_ Bertram wasted no time in replying.

"Eagle Four, this is Paladin, can you restart it?"

_"Negative! Hail has busted some of the intake fan blades and warped what remained! I can't restart!"_

"Copy that. Eagle Four, drop to five hundred feet and return to base. Once you return, inform Command of the situation and have them launch all additional aircraft, including gunships. We'll need as many multi-engine aircraft as we can get."

_"Eagle Four copies. RTB."_

More lightning arced across the sky. Bertram eyed a formation of clouds curiously, watching it seem to begin to swirl around.

"Battery Hill, I have a strange cloud formation just north of your position. Can anyone get eyes on it?"

_"We've got more than eyes on it, we've radioed ahead to Wolfwood. They're about to have a tempest in the teacup. Or, more precisely, a tornado."_ Bertram watched as, just as they had predicted, the cloud and winds dropped lower and began to form the start of a tornado. Further away, he saw the layout of a small town and hoped that the people down there had already taken cover.

The town of Wolfwood, located on the main road that ran from Royalis to Launces, was generally thought of as a wonderful place to visit. Founded between the Grey Forest and Teacup Lake, the town earned a reputation for being a sportsman's haven. Bertram glanced about, hoping for a sign of something, _anything_, that would show the location of the V1s and V2s.

His hope was answered in a rather..._explosive_ fashion.

Midway near the tornado, a large explosion set of six more smaller explosions. Gazing closer using his abilities, he whooped in joy and keyed the radio.

"Those storm dragons may have overdone it a bit, but it's working! I'm seeing multiple V1s and even a few V2s swirling around in there, they're detonating at random though so keep your distance! Intercept what's left and then wait for the storm to die down some." Suddenly the radio came to life, a panic-stricken voice coming through.

_"Alert! Alert! Hawk Eye to Paladin, be on your guard! We've detected something else moving... correction several spots, not moving as fast the the rockets but faster than a dragon... it... it can't be... they've got to be nuts! Rotarian fighters incoming! Looks like they sent a wave to safeguard their rockets! They're flying __**through**__ the storm!"_

Through the radio, he heard Dieter curse.

_"We don't have time to deal with fighters as well. Paladin, I'll take my group and intercept the remaining V1s. We'll have the RAG boys climb above the clouds and look for any high altitude weapons, and the rest of the wing can engage the enemy fighters."_ Bertram, despite the feeling that the wing shouldn't seperate, saw the logic in the stratagy, in this way, even though their forces was divided, they could cover all their bases.

"Copy that. Black Knight, take your fighters and get after those rockets. RAG, climb above the clouds, that should get you boys out of the storm and into some clear skies. The wind up there is fierce, but not as dangerous as down here. Everyone else, set intercept course, we're going hunting!"

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Major Clarence Reese, the second in command of the 666th Elite Fighter Wing, snarled as the winds buffeted his jet yet again. He silently made a memo that once Syllia was firmly under Rotarian control was to ensure that those blasted storm dragons were made extinct. As he adjusted his heading, another jet came into view and he scowled.

"Kiln! Get your ass back in formation before I reprimand you again! I don't know what the hell Marks was thinking, letting you back into the cockpit of a fighter after disobeying orders at Launces!"

_"Get off my ass Reese! Besides, wasn't this __**your**__ idea to fly through the storm to ensure the remaining weapons got to Royalis intact? As for me flying again, Marks needed every experienced pilot he could get after that bastard de Launces gunned down Horos. Frankly I dodn't know the bastard could be so cold."_ Reese's snarl deepened as the insubordinate pilot succeeded, yet again, at grating on his last nerve.

"What do you expect? You shot down his best friend, remember? Hell, even the Emperor himself is starting to doubt Marks' sanity when he requested that you be released from the brig and returned to active flight status. As for de Launces, a wounded beast is the most dangerous type of beast."

_"Keep your zen bullshit to yourself. The only reason you aren't leading your own squadron is because of your anger issues. Besides, next time I face de Launces, he won't be so lucky. Gah! Thrice damn this wind to the Abyss!" _Reese chuckled wickedly, then smiled even wider when another Lieutenant, Reese's Group XO, spoke up with a mocking tone.

_"What's the matter Kiln? You don't like the wind? Is it too strong for you? Remember, the reed that does not bend with the wind will surely break."_

"Shut your ass Killey! And that goes for those two monks too!"

Lieutenant Bart Killey, once part of a monestary somewhere in the Ashcroft Mountains, he was excommunicated and cast out of the temple for both assaulting two fellow monks, his teachers, and destroying sacred relics. He bore a mark called the 'Heretic's Brand' (ironically the Blue Isles kanji symbol for 'traitor') over his face. Since then, he had given himself wholeheartedly to enjoying the vices that he had been denied while at the temple. He imbibed in strong drink regularly and, Horos not withstanding, had been the most likely of the wing to get into a drunken brawl. He bedded down with women almost every night of the week. He also took a perverse pleasure in twisting the scriptures he had studied while in the monestary to suit his own purpose.

He was not above quoting scripture (or twisting it) to get what he wanted. In this sense, Marks had thought him perfect for the wing. As Wolff had been Dieter Muntz's 'Flying Priest', Killey, though the exact polar opposite of Wolff, was also the 'Flying Priest' of Marks Wing.

Although people leaned never to call him a priest to his face unless they wanted to experience the sharp end of that stilleto dagger he kept at his side at all times. Not even Marks dared cross _that_ line...

Reese gazed through the storm and saw contrails arcing through the skies and keyed his radio.

"Kiln, looks like you'll get your chance at revenge sooner than you'd think. We've got company."

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Bertram gazed through the clouds, his dragon sight easily piercing the darkness. He caught the tell-tale flame of exhaust that jets gave off and spotted the enemy formation. Focusing on the lead aircraft, he was a marking that made his blood run cold.

"Paladin to all aircraft, we up against the 666th."

As one, the rest of his wing uttered the same thing.

_"Oh hell."_

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Whew, alright, looks like things are livening up a bit, huh? So, members of the 666th against the 1st Air Wing. This is going to be round 2 between Bertram and Kiln. What'll happen? Well, you just gotta wait for the next update! Ha!

Next Chapter: Stormhawks.


	46. Stormhawks

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 45: Stormhawks

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No sooner had Bertram entered the vortex of stormclouds did he recall the reason it was expressly forbidden to fly in strong storms like this. Immediately, the conflicting air currents threatened to rip the control stick from his hands and his feet felt the rudder pedals vibrate as the wind came at him from all angles. It was so dark in the clouds he and had to rely solely on his instruments to tell him his altitude, direction, and other vital information. He subconsiously strengthened his muscles so that he could keep a grip on the controls.

Through his radio, he heard his wing fighting with their controls as well. He started to wonder if he had made the right call in flying into the winds, the decision was taken from his hands however when he caught a faint flash from the clouds and banked hard right just as a burst from one of the Rotarian planes ripped through the air where he had been moments earlier. Bertram gazed about and saw the faint outline of the offending aircraft as well as the backblast from the jet engine peel from its attack route and dive back into the clouds.

"All fighters, listen up. The enemy _is_in the clouds. They are making use of their plane's colors to blend with the storm. There seems to be only two ways of seeing them, the cannon flash, and the engine exhaust. The devil is telling which is which." At that moment, he heard Dieter come on.

_"Pardon Paladin but there __**is**__ a way. Cannonfire gives off an orange burst and the tracers have a chemical in them that causes them to glow green. Jet exhaust, on the other hand, is blue thanks to the unique chemical composition of the fuel. In short, orange and green for cannons, blue for exhaust. If you take your time to identify which is which, we should be able to undo their tactics."_ Bertram sighed with relief at that and thanked Dieter for his input. However, flying at 500+ mph, catching a faint burst of color was difficult, at best.

At worst, damn near impossible.

Bertram glanced about in the dark clouds for a sign and then saw a brief flare of blue to his right.

"All aircraft, break formation into groups of two. Black Knight, your group finishes off the rockets, the rest of us will take out the fighters. Chaser, your with me."

Bertram and Kani wheeled their jets around and took off after the blue flame that Bertram had seen. Punching through a cloudbank, they saw a Rotarian jet trying to climb up to where the RAG was engaging the few V1s that hadn't been destroyed in the storm. Either this pilot was so engrossed in his current goal that he didn't notice the threat, or he was too inexperienced to know to never fly in straight lines. Either way, Bertram managed to bring his crosshairs neatly over the enemy jet and fired a three second burst. Not long, but just enough to send a good number of shells towards the enemy jet that, apparently, still used a solid wood construction.

His rounds impacted the fuel tank, engine, and the right wing and rudder. The fuel caught and started shooting out darts of blue fire and the engine shot a flame out of the back and siezed. The right wing broke at the midjoint and ripped away and the rudder disintigrated. The loss of power and stability forced the jet into a downwards spiral. Perhaps out of fear, or maybe hoping he had a chance, the pilot blew the lid off the cockpit and hit the silk...

...just in time for the left wing to wip around and break his back. Bertram knew he was dead the way his body folded itself in half backwards, the back of his helmet touching the heels of his boots.

Either way, he wouldn't have made it. The conflicting winds tangled his lines and whipped the parachute around him like a funeral shroud. The last Bertram saw of him, he was a white canvas-shrouded figure plummeting towards the earth.

Glancing about, Bertram saw another jet dip low as if trying to find the one he had shot down. Again, presenting a perfect angle of attack. This time, Bertram pitched up, raking the belly of the jet with his cannons. The enemy jet never rolled or evaded. As Bertram climbed past him, he rolled to see what sort of damage he had done. Lo and behold, the canopy was shattered and stained red with blood and the pilot sat slumped in his seat, a hole from a 20mm round coming up through his seat, through his groin, and up through his chest, into his neck, and then out through the top of his head. This jet didn't roll or fall, instead it simply dropped the nose down and kept dropping.

A sudden explosion to his far right heralded yet another enemy craft downed.

_"This is Snowman, I splashed one."_

_"Snowman! Break hard left, you've got two on your tail!"_

The faint glow of tracers appeared at the far end of the storm. Bertram, not wanting to lose another friend to this unit, pushed his throttle to full and wheeled his plane towards the direction of the tracers.

"Chaser, with me! Snowman, are you alright?"

_"Da, Major. I'm fine, just got a bit of a fright. Heh, bastards rounds went all over the plane but not a one hit me. My plane's going to need a refit but I'm alright."_ Bertram didn't like the sound of that.

"Snowman, what's damaged?"

_"Let's see... hold on... okay, altimeter, bearing, and horizon are good, but my coolant gauge is all over the map. Kinda reminds me of my grandfather's old steam truck."_

"Paladin copies. For safety's sake, disengage and drop to low altitude and return to base. In this storm all it takes is one small flaw for you to break up and crash. Bailing out won't work either the winds'll tie your chute in knots as you fall."

_"Snowman copies. Disengaging."_

_"Uh, Major? This is Eagle Three with the RAG, we've got three enemy fliers up here with us. They appear to have ace markings on them and- They've opened fire! All aircraft break formation!"_ Bertram cursed and glanced upwards, he couldn't see anything through the clouds and knew that as soon as they climbed, they would have those aces to contend with. Still, the RAG was inexperianced, not going up there would be the same as killing them.

"All aircraft, climb above the storm to link up with and protect the RAG. Black Knight, what's the status of those weapons?"

_"Black Knight here, I think we got them all. We're also climbing to assist the RAG... hold it... Shit! Wolff you've got a V1 right on your ass! Paladin? Disregard that first transmission."_ Suddenly, a burst of static came through nearly forcing Bertram to rip his headset off.

_"This is Eagle Six! I've been hit! Mayday! Mayday!"_

_ "Paladin! Jink left!"_

Bertram had just enough time to register what Kani had said and rolled right just as a flaming J33 came falling out of the clouds, breaking up as it hit the conflicting winds.

_"1st Air Wing this is Hawk Eye, we have three tornadoes that have touched down in Wolfwood. Be aware of possible flying debris."_

_ (Oh great, as if we didn't have enough to worry about before...)_

Bertram glanced at his gauges and saw that he was currently at a 45 degree upwards pitch and was climbing rapidly. Finally, the clouds parted and he suddenly beheld a sight that took his breath away.

The stars in the sky as well as the moonlight made the clouds below a dull grey. They somehow gave off enough light that his regular human sight would have had sufficient light to see with, but, he remained with dragon sight as he gazed around, trying to see where the RAG and the three Rotrian aces were. Gazing right, he saw a burst of orange tracers in the distance and angled towards it and saw another J33 burst into flames.

Bertram snarled and winged his aircraft over to the nearest enemy jet and leveled his sights over the engine and fired a burst. At the last moment, the jet rolled and turned hard left, evading the shells and trying to come around on Bertram's tail.

_"Bertram de Launces! I have wondered when I would have the chance to face you again! I shall savor the chance to send you plummeting to the ground just as I did your friend back in Launces!"_ Bertram recognized the voice and then gazed again at the jet and ground his teeth involuntarily. He felt his canines sharpen and lengthen as he recognized the jet as moonlight reflected off its markings.

"Kiln!"

Bertram shocked himself that his voice had changed to a dull growl. The radio piped up again.

_"So... you are letting the dragon take over? You going to clip my wings just like you clipped Horos'? Are you going to reduce yourself to cold-blooded __**murder**__? Ha! You claim to be a better man than us Rotarians?! You are no man, you are a monster, pretending to be a man! You are a bloodthirsty, cold-hearted, monster who will turn on your countrymen as soon as they do something that displeases you!"_

Had Kiln said this before Bertram had fought against his brother, he would have flown at him and probably _would_ have killed him. But now... Now he was smart enough to realize that Kiln was baiting him; trying to get him to slip up, make a mistake in the air that would cost him his life. Bertram wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He keyed the radio.

"I may be a shapeshifter, Kiln, but I am no murderer. Not like you. I would _never_ turn on my comrades or my countrymen. I made a vow, like my brothers, like my father, to never harm the innocent or fall to darkness. I am a soldier, I know where my loyalties lie, and I know my duty. And right now, my duty is to drive you Rotarian invaders out of my country!"

_"Hmph, big words, dragon. But let's see if you are as good a pilot as you think you are."_

Bertram had managed to not lose sight of Kiln's plane as he tried to loop around on his tail. Bertram managed to foil the maneuver by slipping into a spit S and bringing his weapons to bear on the Rotarian jet and firing. Kiln pushed his jet into a steep dive, just barely dodging the rounds. Rolling upside down, Bertram managed to maneuver his aircraft again on Kiln's tail and fired another burst.

Which Kiln evaded, again.

Kiln dove into the clouds, trying to make Bertram lose him so that he could come up behind him but Bertram didn't let him get the chance. He dove into the clouds as well and when Kiln resurfaced, he found the sky devoid of any sign of Bertram de Launces.

Bertram, however, was able to fly through a break in the clouds and get on Kiln's tail again and fire, missing but rattling Kiln enough that he panicked and broke into a dead retreat. Bertram pushed his engines to full power, shot in between two RAG fighters who apparently were not paying much attention to their surroundings, and closed the distance with Kiln again. This time, Bertram made sure to line up the crosshairs correctly and fired a full burst at the enemy before him.

This time, Kiln was a little slow to react and rolled his fighter to the left dodging a few of the rounds but a few of them punched holes through the right side of the tail and shredded the right rudder. Bertram was rewarded by a sharp curse that came through the radio.

_"Gah, blasted wyrm... I've lost right rudder and aileron controls..."_

Bertram stuck with Kiln as he corkscrewed in an attempt to evade him. He pressed down on the rudder pedal hard in an effort to yaw in behind him. The crosshairs lined up neatly over the cockpit of Kiln's fighter and moved his finger over the trigger.

_"Paladin! Break right, NOW!"_

Bertram jerked the controls right and rolled just as rounds that would have gone through the cockpit ripped through the fuselage instead. Immediately, a buzzer went off in the cockpit and a red light came on by the fuel gauge. Bertram tapped it and cursed as the needle slowly dropped. Another buzzer came on and Bertram went wide-eyed as the rpm gauge on the right engine dropped to zero. A loud _clang_ confirmed his fear as the right engine stalled and shut down.

While this happened, Kiln, seizing his chance, dove into the clouds, pushed the engine to full power, and beat a hasty retreat from the battle.

A red light with the word STALL came on and blinked as well as yet another buzzer came on as Bertram tried, unsuccessfully, to restart the failed engine.

"Paladin to all fighters, my right engine is out, my fuel tank is leaking, and I've got a stall warning. Chaser, cover me!"

_"This is Black Knight, confirming the last of the V2s destroyed, for real this time. Bertram, we're heading towards you, hold on!"_

_ "This is Eagle One, I'm engaging the enemy!"_

Bertram glanced to his left and saw two RAG fighters engaging the jet that had attacked him. The pilot was obviously experienced as he rolled to evade them and tried to come up behind them. However, what the RAG lacked in experience, they made up for it in sheer numbers. He didn't notice the third fighter dropping down from behind until it was too late.

The third RAG fighter fired a burst that ripped through the engine and tail of the enemy jet. The engine shot out a bright flame and seized before it dived and vanished into the clouds. Bertram gazed around for the other two fighters and saw one trying to follow him down.

"This is Paladin, I've got one on my tail!"

Bertram dove his damaged aircraft down through the clouds and the enemy followed, guns blazing. A few rounds went through the canopy but did no real harm. The stall warning was still on until he finally dropped back below the clouds. The holes in the canopy allowed rain water to start leaking in and making Bertram feel cold and uncomfortable. Still, the enemy jet didn't give up.

_"I applaud you for your skill Bertram de Launces. I am Major Reese, second in command of the 666th, and I am your Executioner."_ Bertram growled as he gave his controls a quick test. Thankfully, in the low altitude, he could still maneuver even if he was down one engine. He keyed his radio.

"A little early to be claiming the kill don't you think Major? Normally you're supposed to shoot down a plane before you can claim victory."

_"Don't worry, you'll be shot down soon enough. Marks may be the leader of our unit, but his flying is laughable compared to mine. I am Rotiart's fourth highest scoring ace."_

Bertram glanced about the clouds before seeing the closer of the three tornadoes that was still on the ground and angled his jet towards it. Reese, unaware of what Bertram was doing, followed him. He evaded Reese's attacks one after the other, drawing ever closer to the tornado. He was able to see debris swirling around the funnel cloud and quickly muttered a prayer that his aircraft would hold together for just a little bit longer. The right wing started rattling and the blinking red fuel light became a solid red as the gauge dropped below 1/4 and continued to drop slowly.

He knew all it would take is one round, one spark, to set the tank off and blow the aircraft to pieces, and in the conflicting wind currents, a successful bailout would be next to impossible. As he neared the tornado, the aircraft began fighting him again, more violently than before. A quick glance confirmed that Reese was still behind him, obviously engrossed in the chase and not aware of the events around him.

It was what people called 'tunnel vision'. When you become so focused on one specific object that you ignore all else. Pilots were trained to never focus so intently on one target. In an environment where a hostile fighter could could drop out of nowhere and blast your tail out of the sky, such focus was dangerous. He angled the wings of the fighter around and started to go with the air currents. He felt a tail wind come up and push his aircraft along. Then, he saw a mass of debris coming at him and pushed down on the stick as hard as he could.

The debris field whizzed over the jet and went straight at Reese. The radio came to life with an explosion of swear words as Reese pulled back on the stick to try and climb over the field.

Too late.

Debris slammed into Reese's jet, the all wood construction groaning in the wind currents and now being struck by debris. Bertram sighed, realizing that small objects like pots and pans, and chairs wouldn't do anything. He gazed forward and saw two white lights ahead and smiled.

"Hey, Reese was it? Your ride's here!"

_"What the hell are you talking about you blasted- sonofabitch!"_

Reese banked right just as a bus soared by where he had been moments earlier. However, he misjudged his distance and soon his fighter wouldn't respond and the groaning of the wood got worse. Looking up from his panels, he saw he had flown too close to the tornado and was now being drawn into it. He fought with the controls, trying to get away but unable to. Suddenly, he heard the sound of glass cracking, and heard what sounded like bolts creaking.

Without warning, the canopy broke loose, and Reese felt the power of the tornado pulling at him. The straps keeping him in the seat strained and to his horror, one broke. Gazing forward, he saw another vehicle flying through the air towards him. Panicking, Reese reached down to the red handle and pulled it, feeling the seat break free and launch from the jet just as it was obliterated by the vehicle.

Gazing around, Reese saw Bertram's jet vanish from sight as he whipped around in the cyclone. He figured just hold out until the wind died down and it would safe to open the chute. There was just one thing he didn't count on.

The bus had come around again.

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The buzzing in Bertram's jet became a full blown whine as the alarm went off. The fuel gauge was now at empty and the rpm of the left engine dropped to zero. He gazed about and saw that he seemed to be a safe distance from the storm. The J33 was now an unpowered glider.

"Shit. I can't believe this is happening _again!_" He keyed the radio.

"Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. This is Paladin, I have lost both engines and am bingo fuel. I'm currently... eight miles north-northeast of Wolfwood. I'm bailing out."

Bertram released the radio and popped the canopy before flipping the jet upside down and falling free of the plane, pulled the ripcord. The chute deployed safely and he breathed a sigh of relief until he saw that he was drifting towards the lake. He splashed down safely into the lake, used his knife to cut himself free, then shifted into dragon form and swam to shore. He came up just beside a group of civilians taking shelter from the storm by the boathouse. One of them looked over to him and chuckled.

"Nice day for a swim, huh?" Bertram chuckled lightly and returned to human form.

"Yeah. Anyone got a radio? I need to check in with Royalis."

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Kiln cursed as the damaged jet jerked again as he tried to keep control. He had been forced to retreat but had seen Killey get shot down and heard Reese's last transmission before the radio went silent. He had been part of a flight of sixteen fighters and now he was the only one left returning to the airbase. As the fighter jerked again, Kiln couldn't help but groan as he thought about what the chief mechanic was going to say when he saw the shape the jet was in.

_(Hell's bells, what will Marks say about losing another entire wing? What would Mechanos?!)_

For the first time, Kiln had a strong urge to simply take the jet and vanish. Callinar _**was **_said to be lovely this time of year... or perhaps that small island nation off Damoneni called Batu Batu or something like that...

His thoughts were interrupted when a flight of Rotarian fighter-bombers from the 1378th Wing formed up with him and he was forced to make a mid-air explanation as to why he was the only returning aircraft.

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Okay, so... the V1s and V2s are destroyed, the 666th was dealt yet another serious blow, losing not only their second in command but also his entire wing (with the exception of Kiln) and Bertram survives another bail out (and another impromptu bath). What is going to happen next? Well, as soon as I shake the cobwebs loose and get the gears turning again, I'll get to work and surprise ya'll.


	47. Werner's Confession

Okay, thanks to some advice (plus I found my old Warhip Gunner collection) I'm returning to focus to Joshua and Tellanos for the moment. I had to come up with a purpose for the change so please let me know what you think.

Plus, I shall soon be posting the chapters of World Fury to DeviantART. Please take a look when you get the chance.

Just for clarity, in case no one reads the tech guide but wants to know the planes counterparts, the CF-32 is the F6 Hellcat, the CF-33 is the F8 Bearcat, and the P-30-4N is the twin-engine F7 Tigercat that was built for carrier use.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 46: Werner's Confession

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The steamtruck slowed to a stop outside the pilot's barracks. Bertram leapt out of the back of the truck with a sigh of relief and waved his thanks to the driver as he started the truck back up and left the base. Turning around he saw the others of his wing laughing and smiling as he approached. Dieter came up beside him and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"That was one hell of a fight Bertram. Not only did we manage to take out all the V1s and V2s, we even defeated an entire wing of the 666th. I'll bet Marks has to be pretty steamed by now." Bertram nodded.

"Plus, we got their aces. By the way, did anyone see what happened to Kiln after I was forced to disengage?" Dieter's smile wavered and he sighed.

"Unfortunately we didn't get the bastard. As soon as he had his chance, he turned tail and ran like his ass was on fire, which, judging by the way his engine was smoking, it might have been. Still, you took down one of Rotiart's Top Five without much difficulty although I don't think they'll let you claim it because of the bus. That and the fact that you lost your jet." Bertram sighed.

"It's a miracle they haven't demoted me yet. First the bomber over Avalon, then my incident over Peninsula City, and now I lost another aircraft, a jet of all things, by flying too close to a tornado." Dieter laughed good-naturedly.

"Don't you worry about that. If they _did_ demote you, then I'd have to take your place. I can think of fewer things sitting well with the brass and the nobles than a Rotarian defector leading a wing of Syllia's finest. Plus, don't worry about the jet, in war, things happen. You'll just have to sit a while until a new one is issued to you." Bertram nodded and then walked over to the group. Suddenly, there was a commotion from the barracks as Voss came out pale as a sheet.

"Boss, I can't find Werner anywhere!" Dieter immediately became worried. He noticed the others' curious expressions and explained.

"You know how every pilot has a good luck charm? Well, since Voss knows griffonspeak and has been teaching Werner human language, it has become a habit to sit down and talk with one another. Plus, well... that little ball of fluff and feathers held a special place in my squadron back in Rotiart. He was our mascot and our good luck charm. Every time we sortied, we'd pet him before getting to our planes and we'd pet him when we returned. We even kept feathers he'd lost in our coats, an old Rotarian belief of good luck and fortune." Voss nodded but kept looking around worriedly.

"Still, I'm the only family Werner has left. His parents were killed when he was just six years old. My father and I took him back home to Tenret and he was brought up with the family. When it came time for me to join up, I brought Werner with me and Dieter allowed him to stay at the base since it would have been another twelve years before he was big enough to join the Griffon Corps." Bertram nodded that he understood but felt curiousity gnawing at him as he sent the wing to search for Werner. He, Dieter, and Voss were searching together when he decided to ask.

"Voss, how did Werner's parents die?" Voss glowered as he remembered.

"It was a few months before Mechanos ordered remilitarization. The dread griffons always flew patrols around the griffon colonies every few months or so. But this time when the group arrived they were particularly nasty and rude. They wanted to know which den held Werner's family and the watch officer, curse him, sent them right to their front door so to speak. There was a commotion that was heard all over the mountainside and even down in the village and when it was done, the dread griffons left, although their mood hadn't improved much. It was... I don't know as if they had expected to find something but didn't..." Voss took a moment to steady himself and look around the Mess Hall, Werner's favorite place for getting snacks from the cooks, sighed and came back.

"A while later, my father and I went up to the caverns and found them, dead, with Werner trembling in another nearby cave. He was so scared he leapt into my arms and stayed they, crying, until we brought him back home. He was too little to know how to speak the human tongue then so I don't know if he heard anything but even when I've asked him he never says anything about it. I think he'd prefer to forget all about it if he could. The only real friend he had was old Tivars, the griffon elder of that community. Strangely enough, Tivars disappeared around the same time and hasn't been seen or heard from since."

Bertram was about to ask more when suddenly they saw Kani running for the full speed.

"Found him! He's over by the Dracocorps field!" Voss immediately paled and broke into a dead sprint towards the fields. He knew that griffons and dragons never saw eye to eye and was worried at what they would think of a baby griffon wandering around.

Bertram, Dieter and Kani managed to keep up (barely) as they reached the field. Bertram prepared to shift in case he needed to intervene but as they closed in on where Kani had said she saw him, they were greeted by the sound of laughter. As they came around the Dragoon barracks, they stopped and Voss released a tremendous sigh of relief.

Several Dragoons were looking over Werner with immense curiousity as well as several dragons. Even Zakwel was there turning his head this way and that watching as Werner entertained himself with a leather ball the Dragoons used to practice grenade throws. He would bat it one way, leap, hover for a moment and pounce on it, then repeat the process in the opposite direction as well, then he'd filp onto his back and start kicking it around with his hind legs up into the air in an arcing motion until he missed on and it rolled away. Then he righted himself and pounced again. One of the senior Dragoons, Captain Mercer, spotted Voss and waved him over.

"No wonder you flyboys are always in good spirits, you have this little fellow to keep your spirits up. I have to admit, it's refreshing to see a griffon that isn't coming at you intent on fighting. Plus, it does the young ones good to see that even griffons start out as younglings. How old is he?" Voss visibly relaxed and smiled.

"He's about seven now. He'll be eight in summer." Mercer nodded.

"Are his parents among the enemy?" Voss shook his head and relayed what he had told Bertram to them about the dread griffons. Several dragons looked pitifully at Werner while others seethed indignantly.

"So, they not only go after _our_ young; they attack, kill, and cannibalize their own kind?" Voss shook his head.

"No, gold and dread griffons are actually two different species of griffons. There was also a third species of griffon but sadly they went extinct around six-thousand years ago. They were called silver griffons. Even though they fight for Rotiart, dread and gold griffons have as much animosity towards each other as dragons do towards dread griffons. The golds only tolerate the dread patrols because they do it for the 'sake of national security'. Although, they don't seem to care that much about it these days." Mercer looked at Voss curiously.

"So, what was Rotiart like? We hear about it in the history books but little else is known." Voss, grateful for the distraction, took a seat and began to speak.

"Rotiart is a land that, at first glance is inhospitable, but in fact is quite fertile. To the north she is protected by the Arctic Mountains, and to the south is the Belt of Fire, a string of volcanoes. Ash from the volcanoes mixes with sediment from the mountain runoff and creates fertile farmland. The winters are harsh but people learned a long time ago to accept the world for what it was and live their lives as best they could. Believe it or not, it wasn't until a few thousand years ago Rotiart became a human-ruled nation." Catching a few glances, Voss explained.

"Rotiart isn't all that different from Syllia with the exception that while Syllia was always a human-ruled nation, up until the Imperial Wars with Praetoria, Rotiart was ruled by griffons but humans were seen as equals. The third species I spoke of, the silvers, they were the ruling species. Gold griffons and their human knights kept the lands safe from foreign or national threats. The silver griffons had their King, we humans had a Chancellor who was the King's closest confidant. Both species, griffon and human, had their nobles houses and commoners." He paused for a moment as if contemplating something and sighed.

"If I had ever spoken of this in Rotiart, dread griffons would have hunted me down and killed me without mercy, pity, or a second glance. But here... I believe it is time. Roughly six-thousand years ago, when Rotiart was said to be at it's most powerful, a new griffon species was discovered in the northern wastes. They had feathers as black as coal, eyes that shown blood red, and a temperment that rivaled even volcanoes. These were the original dread griffons. In the griffon communities, a secret is passed, that it was the introduction of the dread griffons that caused the decline of, and eventual extinction, the silver griffons." More than a few Syllians gasped at this and Voss nodded sadly.

"The last griffon king, Tharsis the White, a griffon so ancient that his feathers and fur had turned from silver to white, passed away on the Night of Flames. It was said that the volcanoes in the south all erupted at once, bathing the south fields in flames when the king took his last breath." Voss saw Dieter's eyes go wide and he nodded.

"In Rotiart, children are not taught this for the first human Emperor, Magnus the First, a human who surrounded himself with dread griffons as his person guards, declared it treasonous. However, there is a tale that has been spread down through the griffon communities and to the humans near them as well." Voss took a moment to remember the story correctly before he cleared his throat and began to speak.

"In time, a silver griffon shall again walk the earth, and lead Rotiart back from the darkness and once more into the light. With the aid of those noble few who stay the course and face the darkness with valor, honor, and unwavering love for their country, those who fly in shadows and haunt the night shall be vanquished, driven back from whence they came, and Rotiart shall once more know peace." Bertram went wide-eyed as he heard that and waited for Voss to compose himself as he saw his friend will waver, and a scowl come upon his face.

"However, that story, though ancient, is likely false... The silver griffons are extinct... and there is no reviving them... I fear this war will bring about the end of my homeland, and I am prepared to go to my grave cursing and damning the names of those who started Rotiart on it's long march to destruction." Wolff placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, obviously speaking about these things was not something Voss did lightly. Once again, Voss took a few breaths before speaking again.

"There had been a few, well, _more_ than a few rumors or sightings of a silver griffon. An isolated incident where a child finds a silver feather or some hiker finds shed fur that appears to be silver in color. Almost right on the heels of such sightings come the dread griffons. Whether they are true sightings or not, those monsters don't take _any_ chances."

"Neesa."

Voss looked up suddenly at Werner standing before him, staright as an arrow, all previous playfulness gone. Nor was Werner the only shocked one. It was common knowledge that Werner didn't really speak to anyone except for Voss and that was when there was no one around. To have him speak human language aloud and in public was almost as surprising as having a bucket of ice water dumped over one's head.

"W-Werner? What did you say?"

"Neesa." The little griffon repeated. Voss quickly looked to him.

"Do you mean _Te_-Neesa? That's griffonspeak for _Gold_ Griffon." The last was directed to those around him.

"Neesa." Voss paled.

"_Re_-Neesa? Dread griffons?!" Voss immeditely rose, grabbed a nearby pair of binoculars and started scanning the skies, as did the dragons and the Dragoons. Once they were sure nothing was in the sky except clouds, Voss looked back to him.

"Neesa." Werner said again, this time sharper, more urgently. Voss then remembered something and knelt to him, his breath catching.

"Are you trying to say _La_-Neesa? _Silver_ griffons?" Werner suddenly shook his head.

"La-Nee." Voss slapped his head.

"Of course, 'Nee' is singular while 'Neesa' is plural. Yes Werner, I was speaking about a La-Nee." Werner shook his head in confirmation.

"La-Nee. Sibor." The others looked to him curiously; Voss translated.

"Sibor... Sister? Silver griffon... Sister?" Werner jerked his head in affermative and started speaking in halting, yet quick phrases in griffonspeak. All the while, Voss' eyes widened, his mouth suddenly hung open in shock. Dieter tapped him on the shoulder, getting his attention. Voss took a deep breath and started translating what Werner had just told him.

"Griffons don't advertise when they're expecting. They prefer to let it be a surprise to see a new little griffon fluttering about. Werner says that he has a younger sister. She was born, about a week before the incident. A griffon named Kavel came into their den mistakenly one night while his parents slept, caught sight of the young one, and fled before Werner could sound the alarm. He had promised his parents to never, ever, speak of his sister until she was big enough to protect herself. He didn't know what was so special about her, until I just told you this story. Werner's sister, is a _silver_ griffon."

Dieter and Wolff were thunderstruck. Voss suddenly looked anguished as it hit him like a bolt from the blue.

_"That's_ what they were after! Those dread griffons were after Werner's sister... but... they... they didn't get her! Of course! The elder would be told of newborns the moment it happens! That's why Tivars vanished, Werner's father must have known what was happening and asked Tivars to protect the child!" He turned back to Werner.

"Is there anything else? What direction did Tivars take your sister?" Werner looked at him with huge eyes and gave a small smile.

"Eay." Voss rose.

"East. Into Tellanos. Not six months after that, Mechanos orders the Rotarian Army to march into Tellanos, and orders the Navy to cooperate with Callinar to attack Syllia." Mercer went wide-eyed.

"_That's_ what this war was started over? A silver griffon that escaped the dread griffons and fled into Tellanos?" Voss shrugged.

"It's not that simple. Silver griffons are the only griffons that can naturally use magic. They don't have an element like dragons do but they can cast spells to defend themselves, or others, and like light dragons, have a strong dislike for anything corrupt or evil. If it ever became public that there was a silver griffon, the people would demand Mechanos' relinquish power. He may have tried to stifle it, but our history tells of a golden age when the griffons ruled with a kind and compassionate hand. Not like the iron fist of the humans who supplanted them." Dieter nodded.

"And if Mechanos tried to kill one after it's existance was revealed, it would start a civil war the likes of which has not been seen since ancient times." Wolff spoke next.

"The Church may not have as much power as it once did thanks to Mechanos trying to break it apart, but many of the clergy and indeed our oldest sacred texts tell of griffons who carried the soldiers of the Lord into battle against evil. The Church would not allow Mechanos to remain in power. The military however... there are those who still believe in honor and those who have essentially sold their souls for rank, power, and prestige. It would create a great rift forming along the lines of personal belief and their oaths to Mechanos."

"Most would believe that such a rift would give them permission to disavow their oaths to Mechanos and they would join the Church to rise against him. Others would see it as an opportunity to garner favor with him and vindicate past wrongs and old grudges." Voss picked up from there.

"The dread griffons wouldn't think twice about invading Tellanos to seek out a silver; but Tivars didn't become elder by being predictable or slow-witted. He likely avoided places he knew they'd search first such as mountains, or perhaps cliff faces. But in Tellanos, his options would be limited... Being as old as he was, he wouldn't be able to fly far with a small child. A few miles at a time at best. He would need to stop and hunt, drink and a young griffon, she would need to eat several times a day, four maybe five. He would need a place that would be out of range of the dread griffons, a place that even Mechanos would avoid unless there was no other recourse." Mercer placed a hand on his chin thoughtfully.

"The largest cliff face and mountain in Tellanos would be Grand Vista, the birthplace of the Federal Navy. But Mechanos dropped one of them Ragnarok bombs on the city a few weeks after he bombed Lavonshire. If they were there, they could be dead by now." Voss shook his head.

"No, Grand Vista may be perfect but it's a large military facility. Too exposed. He'd need a place that's secluded... Wait a minute! Isn't there a mountain range that forms the border of Tellanos and Schildhaven?" Mercer jumped.

"By God, you're right! Pine Mountain! A small fishing village...uh... Cardis, is there! He'd have seclusion, plentiful food, and plus many of the people in Cardis are believed to be a little crazy with being isolated. So no one would really take them seriously. There's just one problem, Mechanos invaded Schildhaven without a second thought. Cardis and Pine Mountain are now _behind_ enemy lines."

Bertram, who up to this point had been silent. Looked up.

"There's the Fifth Fleet. They are currently shored up at Peninsula City, safeguarding the landing vessels that are continuously bringing in supplies and troops to bolster the forces in that area. I'm sure that if I can plead the case to Father that he could be persuaded to do something." Mercer looked to him.

"Do what exactly? Open up a new theatre of war? Do you have any idea the logistics such an operation would require? It's taking all we have to hold the lines where they are. We cannot spare the manpower to open up a third front."

"You won't have to."

Everyone turned at the new voice and saw pilots wearing the uniform Bertram recognized as that of the Tellanian Federal Air Force. Mercer looked to him curiously.

"What exactly do you mean by that friend?" The Federation pilot looked at him then to Voss.

"The Tellanian Army may be down but it is not out. Every day we hear reports of brave Partisans and holdout Amry groups risking their lives to save our Motherland. If finding this silver griffon would bring about a quicker end to Rotarian occupation, then you have my support and the support of all loyal sons and daughters of Tellanos. I ask that you present this evidence to the Tellanian Council here in Royalis and let them speak with your King. If we can get permission for transfer, we shall transfer to whatever base is closest and lend our support."

Dieter looked to Voss and then to Bertram.

"Bertram. I know this may sound selfish but... if we do get permission to open this front, you and your group are still needed here to protect Royalis. This is something that _we,_ as Rotarians, need to do." Bertram gazed at the three Rotarian defectors and nodded.

"I'll speak with my Father, make him aware of the situation. Once that's done, if he gives his permission, your transfer request will be approved." Dieter, Voss, and Wolff nodded their thanks as Bertram left for the castle without a moment's delay.

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Three Days Later...

_RNV Leviathan, 5th Fleet, Near Peninsula City_

Josh awoke to the sound of someone knocking on the door to his quarters. He got up and reached for his uniform pants nearby and put them on before anyone came in.

"Enter."

The hatch opened and the radio assistant came in, saluted, and handed him a message that had just came through the radio encrypted channels.

ROYALIS HIGH COMMAND TO _RNV LEVIATHAN_

URGENT, HIGHEST PRIORITY

HAVE DISCOVERED INTEL VITAL TO WAR EFFORT. MAKE ALL PREPARATIONS TO SAIL TO WATERS BETWEEN TELLANOS AND SCHILDHAVEN. ASSISTANCE FROM FEDERAL 11TH FLEET AND ANOZIRAN 2ND FLEET WILL LINK UP NEAR SCHILDHAVEN SHORELINE.

PREPARE FOR POSSIBLE THREATS FROM SEA, LAND, AND AIR. LANDING SHIPS CARRYING THE FEDERAL 5TH ARMY AND 44TH HEAVY ARMOR CORPS INBOUND. REINFORCEMENTS FROM ANOZIRA, PRAETORIA, AND ESPAN FOLLOWING BEHIND.

ALSO, FEDERAL 29TH AIR ATTACK WING, FEDERAL 13TH SUPPORT WING, FEDERAL 9TH SCOUT WING, AND LAUNCES 1ST AIR WING 'E' SQUADRON WILL BE ARRIVING BY THE AFTERNOON.

EXPECT FULL BRIEFING FROM LT. VOSS OF E SQUADRON.

END.

Josh gazed at the message and then back to the radioman and nodded.

"Notify the fleet. We set sail within the day." The radioman nodded, saluted, and left the cabin as Josh walked to the phone in the cabin that led to the bridge. He flipped up the earpiece, turned the key on to power the phone and waited for the officer on duty to answer. He heard Anne's voice on the pther end and smiled.

"Anne, notify the deck crews to prepare for incoming allied flights and tell the crew to ready to sail. We've been asked to spearhead what is basically an invasion force aimed at starting a third front to liberate Tellanos. Also, please have all officers assemble in the ward room once Lieutenant Voss lands. He'll be briefing us."

_"Understood Captain."_

Josh turned off the phone and walked to the easel and sat down with the painting he was working on. It had been some time since he'd been able to just sit and paint like he did when he was younger. He worked on the painting for a long while and before he knew it, he heard the ship's bell go off.

_"Attention all personel, incoming allied aircraft. Radar has also detected several LSTs inbound to link up with us. Prepare to sail as soon as the last aircraft has landed and is stowed away."_

Josh stowed his paints, changed shirts, put on his cap and left the cabin to walk to the bridge. As soon as he arrived, the crew came to attention and Anne motioned him to the observation post to watch as the aircraft landed. The deck crew was in the midst of stowing one of Federation planes. In preparation for this mission, several Syllian aircraft meant for carrier operations and some for land-based ops were requisitioned by the Federation and assigned to the units that were to deploy. Once these aircraft landed and were stowed in the hangars, they were to be repainted in Tellanian colors and markings.

Although it was a safe bet that Rotiart's main frontline units would have the best equipment and that those in occupied zones would have substandard equipment, no one was taking any chances. The Syllian planes were all modified for the Federation's use. The ones originally meant for land-based operations were to be modified en route to the theatre.

The planes chosen by the Federation were CF-32Gs, new CF-33As, and even a few twin engine modified P-30-4Ns, these last planes were twin engine night fighters already modified for carrier use. All were armed with a complete cannon armament, heavy armor, brackets for rockets and bombs, as well as external drop tanks in case of an extended mission, and lastly the most powerful supercharged non-jet propulsion engines ever produced. Add to that the experimental Rocket Assisted Take-off (RATO) devices installed, and you had the fastest, most heavily armed planes in the world that could take off any carrier in the world regardless of deck length.

The last aircraft to land were the E Squadron. Again due to the lack of jet fuel, they too were flying CF-33As, only these remained in Syllian colors and markings. As soon as the last one touched down, Josh nodded to Anne who turned to the bridge crew.

"All hands to stations, prepare to sail. Once we're underway, have the fleet take positions around us. Lieutenant Edwards, you have the bridge." The young officer nodded.

"I have the bridge, ma'am. Engines ahead two thirds, rudder thirty-seven degrees to port."

As the ship started off, Josh and Anne went below to the ward room where, as requested, all officers not currently on duty were waiting. After a few short moments, several Tellanian pilots, as well as Dieter, Wolff, and Voss came in, saluted and remained at ease. Josh nodded and turned to Voss.

"Lieutenant, I was told you would have the reason and the instructions for this new front?" Voss nodded.

"Indeed sir. While opening a third front and dividing Mechanos' attentions further is the main goal, we, that is the three of us have another goal, one that, if it succeeds, has the potential to end the war earlier than expected." Josh and several officers looked to him curiously as Voss explained to them about the silver griffon and the role that she might play if she could be found and her knowledge became public. Once Voss finished explaining, Josh nodded thoughtfully.

"So if this silver griffon is indeed alive and where you think she might be, we would divide Rotiart's loyalties?" Voss nodded.

"Yes, sir. The silver griffons were once the rulers of Rotiart, that's why that, even during the Imperial Age, we couldn't remove them from our flags and other ensignias. To do so would have incited the remaining golden griffons to rebel against the country and that would have in turn made the people rebel. A slighted griffon is a dangerous foe, Captain. Other than dragons, they are the cleverest, strongest, swiftest, and most long-lived creatures in the world. In Rotiart, we all have the same history, the same stories our parents learned from their parnets and so on and so forth. They all have one thing in common. Silver griffons. In short, we have the silver griffon, we essentially have Rotiart."

"What if Mechanos kills it and blames it on us?"

"Then most likely Rotiart would fight us to the last man, woman, and child. There would be some who could be dissuaded, but not many. Our nation is one enveloped by darkness. It has been for some time. The legends of the silver griffons are the only reason people have left to hope for. A promise that one day all past wrongs will be assuaged and we can be at peace once more. A promise to return to prosperity through means other than warfare and bloodshed. A promise that no more families will be ripped apart by unneccessary wars and needless conflicts." Josh nodded thoughtfully.

"Alright then, so we at least know now what we're doing. We have seven days to iron out the kinks of the invasion before we arrive. The area near this mountain and the town is known as the Kolymski Bay. It's basically nothing but beaches but the problem is that the water there is too shallow for anything other than landing craft and destroyers." Josh unrolled a map and lay it down on the table and pointed to a small landmass just south of the bay.

"Furthermore, it's a good chance that Zemlya Island, and the fortress on it, Fort Zemlya, has been occupied by the enemy. They may attempt to stop or interfere with the landings until reinforcements arrive." Dieter nodded and looked to Josh.

"So our first step will be destroying the fortress?"

"That's correct. Anne, radio the landing ships and tell them to make sure the soldier's get plenty of rest. They're going to need it." Anne nodded and turned to leave just as a Federation pilot cleared his throat. When Josh turned to him, the pilot pointed to the map. Where his finger was pointing was a city that sat on both sides of the Kamchatka River. Josh looked to the city.

"Your home, pilot?" The pilot nodded.

"At last report, there were some seven thousand soldiers of the Army holed up in the city. The Rotarians have been bombarding it from the fortress day and night as well as bombing it from the air. Sir, if we have the manpower, would we be able to take some of the pressure off them?" Josh gazed at the map, almost as if judging the distance between it and the small town and their mountain objective.

Ho honestly didn't know if the Federation had sent enough troops for that sort of action or whether or not the defenders were still holding out. Still, if there was a chance...

The name of the city: Dovograd.

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_Dovograd, Tellanos Federation_

Vasili Alexandr was not a violent man by nature. He was a farmer, a shepard, and a hunter by trade, and a brewer by hobby. In the days of his youth, he and his father would go out into the woods, sometimes for days at a time, and return with a load of furs from their hunts. Deer and other creatures used for meat would be packed with snow to keep them cold. In the summer, his fields grew wheat, corn, barley, a variety of vegetables, (and some hops as well). He was considered one of the best brewers in the nation.

When the war came, he put down his brewer's apron, picked up his rifle, left the farm to his seven children and wife, and joined the volunteer army as was required by law.

Never in a hundred years did he think he would be huddled in an old apartment with five others, four men, one woman. All volunteers like him who, once the capital fell, were absorbed into the regular army and ordered to hold the city of Dovograd until reinforcements arrived.

His old rifle, broken in the first days of the siege of the city, was long gone. So was his indifference. At fifty, he was the oldest man in the group though not an officer. No, that 'honor' belonged to the young twenty-four year old boy who sat against the wall to his left, quietly praying for reinforcements that, to be quite honest, no one believed would be coming. He was the old man, the one that the young ones looked to for guidance and wisdom. Even the lieutenant. He had instructed these survivors in the fine art of hunting, evading, precision shooting, and close-quarters combat.

Having seen many young men and women killed, some in the most horrible ways imaginable, he had vowed to save as many of them as he could. If that meant killing as many Rotarians as possible, then so be it.

His spotter, a private no older than sixteen, maybe seventeen at best, gave three taps to his shoulder, the quiet signal that he had spotted three Rotarian soldiers. Vasili checked his watch, nodded at the time and chuckled.

"Poor timing for these bastards. The fort's about to start bombardment again."

He turned around, his old back creaking as he did so, silently cursing his old age. Rested on one knee, grabbed the scoped rifle beside him, and loaded a fresh five round clip. No sooner had he closed the bolt and locked it did the first shells arc overhead, impacting the a street some ten or twelve blocks from their current position. The three soldiers, aware they were in no danger, just kept patrolling the block.

The private was the newest of his little group. Pulled from the wreckage of a troop truck, it was clear he had no experience holding a gun but he was an excellent scout and had better vision than most other riflemen Vasili had ever seen. Gazing through the scope, Vasili lined up on the first but stopped short, cursing himself.

"I hate getting old."

The young man watched as Vasili pulled a pair of glasses from his coat pocket. The frame was slightly warped and the left lens cracked but then again Vasili always shot with his right eye anyway. As he rested his rifle he waited and looked at the boy who watched his every move.

"Now then lad, remember this. Your best chance to attack is when you have something to mask the sound of the shot. Keeps the enemy guessing, you see? A soldier drops dead but nobody hears the shot? Creeps them out, panicks them, makes them think 'What if I'm next?' A bombing run or artillery barrage is the perfect cover, but there are other distractions. Now then, see how they are, all lined up in formation? The trick is to pick of the furthest guy, the straggler, first and work your way forward, that way, they don't know they're being shot at until it's too late."

Vasili waited for a moment, then heard the whistling sound of an artillery round coming over, waited for a split second more and squeezed the trigger just as the shell exploded. Just like he said, the rearmost soldier dropped, his body crumpling to the ground with a hole where his nose had been. His two friends never heard the shot nor where they aware he had fallen.

As he chambered another round, the heralding of another shell came through. He lined up on the second, steadied his breath, and fired as the shell burst. This time though, the lead soldier was just turning to speak with his friend when the round struck home. The Rotarian soldier watched his friends face disintigrate and was splattered with blood and gore as his friend fell.

His face spattered with gore, bits of bone and brain matter, the soldier turned this way and that trying to see if he could determine where the shot had come from. Then, seeing his friend Vasili had shot earlier dead as well, his nerve broke, he turned tail and started running. He had just reached his first friend's body when a shell came over, close enough to give a man a haircut, and blew out the windows of the old department store across the street. Vasili didn't miss his chance though, he pulled the trigger, and saw through his scope as the round impacted the soldier's back, likely going through the chest, and blowing out the sternum and ribcage.

His targets dead, Vasili eased himself back to his original seat, removed his glasses and pulled a flask out of his coat. Ironically, before the war, Vasili was neither a drinker nor did he smoke.

Seeing a young boy roughly the same age, height, and almost a dead mirror image of his youngest son get killed changed that. He could not forget the sight of the boy running for his mother. The sound of the machinegun as the boy was cut down, and the screams of the boy's mother as the tanks mercilessly ran her down as she tried to save her son's life.

The only reason the machinegun had fired was because Vasili had run out of bullets for his rifle, having spent the last one on a Rotarian colonel who was executing wounded Tellanian soldiers and civilians with a near sadistic glee.

The bastard had died laughing, with a broad smile showing all his teeth plastered on his face, even though the top half of his head was no longer there.

In retaliation, the tank crews had opened fire on the remaining civilians, gunning them all down, then running over their bodies to ensure they hadn't missed one.

He checked his ammo bag and sighed when he saw he only had two clips and three stray rounds left as well as seven or eight rounds for the pistol he'd lost a few days earlier. Vasili took a swig of the 190 proof vodka from the flask, then pulled a cigarette out and lit it chuckling to himself.

"I always thought that these things would kill me. They probably will, later in life, but for right now, I'm more worried about getting blown up, burned alive, shot, or run over than I am about lung rot, liver failure, or anything else. Lieutenant, I hope your prayers are answered soon, because I'm running out of ammo, the nearest camp that we know of just got blown into next week, and worse, I think the enemy is narrowing down where we are. That last shell struck a little too close to home."

"Are we out of vodka?" Vasili shook his head, grabbing the bottle that had been placed in the desk to keep it from getting carelessly broken. The Lieutenant gave a wan smile.

"At least we can be thankful for that."

As the bombardment faded, the eight men and women in the apartment each drank a sip from the bottle and then settled in for what would be another cold, nerve-wracking night.

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Okay, so now we have moved into Tellanos. We know that there is a way to demoralize the Rotarians and maybe even stop them entirely. Still though, will this plan work? Will the force make it there in time? Will Vasili and the others run out of vodka anytime soon?

Find out next time as we follow Vasili and his survivors as they try to make their way to another section of the city.

Next Chapter: Sewers, Factories, No Retreat.


	48. Sewers, Factories, No Retreat

Well, here we are again. Like I promised, this chapter and probably the one after it will focus on Tellanian forces while Josh and the fleet makes the transit to Tellanos. So then, here we go.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 47: Sewers, Factories, No Retreat.

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_Day 87_

_12 Floodrain, 1933_

_1030 hours_

_Record of Staff Sergeant Vasili Alexandr_

_Federal 8th Volunteer Corps/ Federal 11th Army_

_It's been 87 days since the siege began, double, almost triple that time that the capital fell. During that time I've seen comrades die. People I came to call friends. I've seen more war, more horror, more atrocities through my scope than my father ever did during the war against Syllia almost fifty years ago._

_We're all that's left, I'm afraid, of the 8th Volunteers. We signed up because by law, in times of war, a member of a family must serve, there are no exemptions, no exceptions, and if anyone tries to buy or bribe their way out of it, they were arrested on the spot for cowardice._

_'Coward'. The ultimate insult for a soldier and a near death-sentence._

_The Generals have issued our orders in place of the Committee. They are strict, and most people believe the Generals are simply covering their own asses while they are safe behind our lines. They know nothing about what is at the front. Nor do they care. They think if you throw enough bodies at a problem it'll just go away._

_This problem won't._

_Just yesterday I took out three soldiers under the cover of an artillery barrage aimed at flushing us out of our holes. The city is in ruins from the 24/7 bombardment. The shells were half-ass aimed but that was good enough. They blew up a camp some others like us had set up a few blocks back. Another shell impacted the department store we had been set up in last week._

_I feel it in my bones. The enemy knows we're on the ropes. They know our resolve is fading. I hear gunfire daily and I can't help but wonder, is it our forces fighting the enemy? Or is it the Commanders turning their own guns on those who are trying to desert?_

_Most of these 'soldiers' are just kids. Most of them should still be with their families, in school, anywhere but a warzone._

_We're low on ammunition and of our group, only myself, the Lieutenant, and a another soldier have weapons. I have my sniper rifle, the LT has his SMG but he's barely got half a drum left. The other soldier has a pistol but, realisticly, had only three rounds left until I gave her the loose rounds I had in my bag._

_If my memory hasn't failed me yet, I seem to recall there being an outpost in an old factory in the industrial district. But I'll be damned if I know how we'll get there without fighting out way through the whole damn Rotarian Army._

_Looks like Raster and Mikail are returning from the old camp. Here's hoping they found some ammo, or at least an intact bottle of vodka._

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Two rifles, a pistol, a few SMG drums, and an LMG were set down on the rug in the apartment. Immediately Vasili could see that two of the three drums were dented and unusable. The LMG was intact but there were no ammo wheels for the weapon. One rifle had warped sights, the other had a cracked stock and grip but was still servicable. The pistol, ironically, was the only intact weapon. No surprise because it was what was popularly known as the '38-07'.

The M.38/1907 pistol was crafted from a solid chunk of metal. It held 8 rounds, but ironically held no magazine. Instead, like the rifles, it used a large 'strip clip' that was loaded through the top. It was sturdy, but heavy. Reliable, but unwieldy. It was used primarily by the enlisted who couldn't afford the smaller, sleeker, and lighter pistols favored by the officers and generals.

Thankfully there were eight strip clips for them, and six rifle clips.

The pistol went to the kid, Vasili's spotter, Mishka. The two rifles went to Cazel and Raster. Mikail, being the biggest of the lot, hefted the LMG with ease. The Lieutenant managed to extricate the rounds from the damaged drums and wound up with two full 71-round drums and a few loose rounds. However, upon examining the rifles, he scowled as he pulled a pair of pliers out of his bag and straightened the warped sights but for the busted rifle there was nothing he could do except strip the mechanism from the weapon in case it was needed later for repairs. Vasili himself took two clips, passed two to Raster, and then passed the others to Cazel. When Cazel looked to him curiously, Vasili looked her straight in the eye.

"There are enough dead bodies and fallen weapons around here for you to easily find a weapon. For the moment, take the ammunition. If, God forbid, I or Raster get killed, take the rifle we drop and use the ammo to continue the fight." Cazel nodded, her green eyes sorrowful yet understanding. Vasili eased over to the window and gazed out onto the street, wondering what the hell to do now. He turned over to the Lieutenant who was checking his weapon. The young officer stopped and looked to him, gaze forlorn.

"Well Sergeant, what do we do?" Vasili gazed back out at the street and looked in the distance at the factory he seemed to recall had an outpost.

"Well sir, I believe there was, or might still be an outpost over by the factory in the far side of the city. Now if there is one there we can rally with our forces to try and continue holding the city. The devil in the details is actually _getting_ there." Mishka suddenly looked up with a 'duh' expression.

"Sir, what about the sewers?" Vasili looked to the young man curiously.

"The sewers? What about them?"

"They run all over the city. Plus, I think they're the only place the Rotarians won't go. I guess they're afraid of getting their uniforms dirty. But, what I'm getting at is that we can use the sewers to move undetected under the feet of the enemy. We would only need to expose ourselves should we come across a damaged or exposed section or once we reach the factory." Vasili gave a slight nod and looked to the Lieutenant, Alenkov.

"What say you Lieutenant Alenkov? Shall we regroup with our forces at the factory?" Alenkov looked to Vasili and gave a small smile and a nod.

"No need to be official with me Vasili. I defer to your judgement in these matters. If not for you I and the rest of us here would be dead several times over by now. But still, as you said, the enemy is tightening the noose around our necks. We can either wait, in which case we shall be killed one by one or all at once, or we can cut our losses in this part of the city and regroup with our fellow holdouts and hope that none of them are in the mood to shoot us for abandoning our posts." Vasili grunted.

"We've been holed up in this part of the city for two months. There's been no radio contact, not since Sergei got killed trying to scavenge parts for it. The fighting has moved on from this area with the exception of the occasional patrol or the random artillery barrage trying to flush people out of whatever shelter they can still find. If anything, they should be grateful we returned to duty rather than taking the chance to leave the city." At that moment, Mikail burst out with that trademark laugh of his.

"Don't be so hasty to defect now comrade. Heh, such talk would make you appear to be disloyal to the nation. You don't want to be lumped in with those fanatics the government has ben throwing into the artic prisons now eh? Besides, you leave now you won't see how this chapter in our nation's history ends. Or... if that doesn't tickle your fancy... how about this? No one here knows half the things you know. Alenkov may be the officer in charge, but _you_... _You_ are our leader. If you leave, all of us... we'd likely be dead within the week." Vasili shook his head.

"Don't sell yourselves short. I'm an old man, you lot have your whole lives ahead of you-" Cazel looked up and interrupted him.

"Lives that don't mean much of anything if we're killed in action, arrested for defecting, or if we allow Rotiart to win here in which case we'd be POWs and you _know_, you've _seen_ how the Rotarians treat POWs. They won't let anyone survive after so much resistance has been raised here. They'll raze the city to the ground and bury us all beneath the rubble if they get the opportunity." Raster looked up this time and nodded.

"She's right you know? At least if we fight there's still a chance help will come. Giving up is admitting defeat. Same as doing nothing at all. If it is to be our end, then we should make our ends worthy of being remembered. Make our stories worthy of being told and retold throughout the ages. We the few, the loyal and resiliant few who stood up against all forms of oppression and evil and fought to the last bullet, the last man... and woman, who fought until the last drop of blood was spilled. If I had a choice, _THAT's_ how I'd want to be remembered." Mishka chuckled, gaining an approving glance from Mikail and a scowl from Raster.

"Yeah and perhaps a statue built in our memory in the center of the plaza at the Azure Square in Retorinc with a plaque that reads: 'In Eternal Memory Of Those Who Held Out Against All Odds' or something along those lines. Me? I intend to survive. This city is my home and I'll not abandon it without a fight. That's why I volunteered." Vasili looked around to the people around him and sighed.

"So, does that mean we're all in agreement? Shall we go through the sewers and head for the factory?" As one the group nodded. Vasili sighed and then went back to checking his rifle.

"So be it. But, we wait for darkness. I'm not to keen on running out there in broad daylight with only some rubble for cover. I'm not in a hurry to experience having my ass shot off as the Syllians say." This brought a round of laughter from the rest of the group as they settled back in to await sunset.

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Several hours later...

Vasili awoke to a gentle nudging of his shoulder. A lifetime of waking at the slightest touch allowed him to awaken at once with no sign of grogginess. His eyes opened to the sight of Mishka standing in front of him. The young man nodded to him and pointed that the others were also just stirring. Outside, the only light to see by was from the moon, the stars, and the fires that burned throughout the ruined buildings.

He eased himself up, not wanting his back to start popping as it sometimes did when he shifted or moved suddenly. Once he was standing, he picked up his rifle, his bag, and went to the door. Alenkov came up and joined him, covering him as he opened the door and cautiously sticking the gun out and peeking to see if anyone was out there. Once Alenkov nodded, Vasili opened the door and moved out solwly and cautiously. In the still darkness, every creak, every sound, seemed a thousand times louder than it was. The worst part was decending the stairs as it seemed that no matter how lightly someone brought their foot down, the stairs groaned and protested.

Still, they all reached the bottom without incident. The blown open front of the building allowed them to see there was no enemy presense in the area as they walked to the nearby manhole covering the sewer entrance. Mikail, the pack rat, produced a crobar from hrom his pack and stuck it in the cover and pried it off. Then, he gazed up to the others, a crooked grin on his face.

"Last one in, get the door. Oh, and I'll want that crobar back." Cazel let out a groan as she came forward and Mikail motioned in a 'ladies first' gesture.

Cazel climbed down the ladder and Vasili heard a muffled splash as her feet hit the water below.

"Oh... my... _GOD!_ This is awful!" Mikail chuckled and called down to her.

"Start with shallow breaths. You'll get used to the smell." They heard Cazel's reply to that as Mikail started down after her. Next was Raster, then Mishka, Alenkov, and Vasili was the last. Using Mikail's crobar to pull the cover back over the hole in the street, he handed the tool back to its owner who looked about the sewers for something. Alenkov curiously asked what he was doing, Mikail explained.

"The sewers all have markers showing the way to the next block or the next area. All the tunnels down here look alike so it's easy to get lost. I had an uncle once get lost in the Retorinc sewer system for three days straight. One day I asked why the hell he didn't simply climb out of the sewers and he told me it was because he left his truck parked at East Fifth." Cazel looked to him with a flat expression.

"Was that supposed to be a joke?" Mikail chuckled.

"Nope. True story. My uncle was good man, just dumb as a post. He worked for Retorinc Sanitation and did his job well. He fixed all the problems he ever caused."

Cazel hefted a fallen brick and gazed at Vasili with an expression that said she really, _really_ wanted him to say it was okay for her to bash Mikail's brains in, or whatever it was he had up there in that thick head of his. Instead Vasili shook his head and pointed to the right passage.

"That way leads to Industrial Plaza. Once there, the factory should be at Third and West. Watch for exposed sections, traps, and other hazzards." Mikail chuckled again.

"Yeah you know the stories right? Apparently the well-to-do who purchase exotic pets then lose interest in them dump them down here in the sewers. No telling what we'll run into down here. My uncle once swore he saw a supersized Callinian crocodile swim right past him once." Mishka cocked an eyebrow at that.

"The same uncle who was lost for three days?" Mikail smiled broadly.

"Da. He says he saw the croc on the third day when he was starting to feel the effects of dehydration. Actually raised enough of a ruckus to get people to send search parties down into the sewers to capture the monster. In the end they never found it but six searchers mysteriously went missing during that time. Their bodies were never found." Raster groaned and Cazel gave Mikail a venomous look that made him sweat nervously.

The group started off down the passage, easing through, checking every nook and cranny just in case they did come across something that shouldn't have been there. Twice, they came across some sort of improvised explosive device rigged by Federal forces and rather than disarm them, simply avoided the triggers and stepped around them.

Vasili came around a corner and then brought his hand down just as Mishka came up beside him and pointed down. Mishka looked down and paled. He had just come within a hair's length of stepping on a tripwire that Vasili visually followed to a 'bouquet' of six live grenades hanging from the cieling.

The trap was set to yank all six pins out of the spoons when someone brought their foot down on the tripwire. Thankfully, Vasili had dealt with this kind of trap before. He eased up to the bouquet, cut the line on the lowest hanging grenade and slowly disarmed each grenade and passed them along to the group who were thankful to have something that, if push came to shove, they could use to great effect against the enemy.

A little further down the tunnel, some mortar and dirt from the cieling fell, making Vasili halt the group. Placing his hand on the cieling he felt a slight shaking and eased around to where the curb was and glanced up through the storm drain and scowled.

"Armored cars and halftracks over us. From here on out, no unnecessary noise. If we come to a damaged area, get down and move slowly."

The group advanced a little further through the sewers. Cazel took over the lead and managed to discover the path to the factory. In a fit of relief, she took a rushed step forward and tripped as her foot snagged something that made Vasili pale as he heard a faint _'snick'_.

"Don't move!" Cazel froze where she was on her hands and knees, gazing about with a panicked expression as Vasili came forward and then removed some broken bricks haphazardly piled up reveiling, of all things, a 155mm artillery HEI (high-explosive/ incendiary) shell wired to the tripwire that Cazel had stepped on, but not triggered.

The firing pin of the trap had rusted, rendering the shell both unusable as a trap but also unstable as the small spring was tripped but could slam forward, detonating the shell at any moment.

To make matters worse, the section to the far left was caved in and Vasili could see vehicles rolling by and troops marching. As he moved forward to try and disable the trigger, he heard some rubble fall from near the hole and saw a small group of soldiers stop. The tunnel echoed with their officer's booming voice.

"You men go down there and check it out. If you see anything, call for support. The rest of the troops are moving on to the factory."

Vasili pulled Cazel aside as eighteen troops came down into the hole and started shining their lights around.

"Be on the lookout. Reports say that the survivors have strung traps all over this area. Watch your step."

Vasili eased up to the side and grabbed the grenade from his coat, finger in the pin. The debris was stacked high enough to hide the group as they crawled forward. On the opposide side, Cazel grabbed her grenade as well and nodded to Vasili. Together, they pulled the pin, counted to three, and tossed them into the darkness. The grenades bounced off the stone of the sewers making a distinctive sound.

By a sheer stroke of bad luck, a soldier actually stepped on the grenade. Looking down, he identified the handle and saw the shape of what he'd stepped on and paled. He had just enough time to shout a warning before the grenades went off, blowing him upwards into the cieling and blowing another soldier off the walkway and into the fetid, greenish-brown sludge that was in the sewer.

The first soldier screamed, clutching at what was once his right leg as Alenkov and Mishka rounded, opening fire down the corridor. Mishka silenced the wounded soldier and Alenkov's rounds cut down three of them before they dove to either side, oblivious to the sludge and started returning fire.

Rounds bounced off the stone, forcing Alenkov and Mishka to take cover. One of the soldiers ran back up the entrance, but Vasili put a round through his head just as he reached the top. Good, but not good enough. The soldier was shot within sight of his fellows who started shouting and running towards the entrance. Cursing, Vasili returned to cover and reloaded his weapon.

"If they come down here and follow us, we'll lead them right to the factory. We have to seal this off somehow." Cazel looked down at the shell and then to Mishka.

"Mishka, how many rounds do you have left?" Mishka shook his head sadly.

"Five rounds left. Sorry Sergeant, I couldn't control my weapon good enough." Before Vasili could say anything, Cazel handed Mishka the rifle ammo she had and took the pistol from him.

"You guys go. I'll stay here and detonate this shell. It's a 155 so it _should_ collapse this entire passage." Vasili shook his head.

"No. We can wire a grenade and then detonate it from a distance. There's no reasonfor you to-"

Vasili stopped as he noticed blood on Cazel's pants leg. Easing over to get a better look, he was horrified to see a piece of wire sticking in her pants. Cazel chuckled and looked at Vasili.

"That's why the shell didn't detonate. The wire snapped with such force it embedded itself in my leg. I... I think it nicked that artery that runs down my leg. I-I won't make it. Sergeant Vasili, please. Take the rest fo them and get to the factory. Warn them there. I'll stay here. If you try to save me and sacrifice a hundred others you have made the wrong choice."

"But you have a family. A husband and child." Cazel sighed and shook her head.

"They were in Grand Vista." Vasili sighed and lowered his head.

"I'm sorry." Cazel smiled.

"Don't be. I now have a chance to be with them again. You did all you could. Never regret a single moment. When this war is over, people like us, we'll be remembered." Vasili chuckled and motioned for the others to go ahead.

"There's just one problem with that. I don't want to be remembered. When this all blows over, I'd prefer to be forgotten. The dead are the only ones who need to be remembered." Cazel's smile widened as she fought to hold back a laugh.

"Well then, try to remember me, okay old man?" Vasili nodded and then turned to leave. He was grateful Cazel hadn't seen the tears welling up in his eyes. She was roughly the same age as his oldest daughter. Eighty-seven days together had forged the group into a family. In their own way, each person of the group resembled his children. In all honesty, he had more than hoped that when the war was over and he found his family, he could consider getting Mishka and his daughter Olivia together.

As the group advanced forward, they kept hearing a gunshot every one in a while. Then, as the grate and the tell-tale smokestacks of the factory were within sight, a loud explosion echoed through the tunnel. Vasili spared a glance back to say a silent goodbye and then turned back to his group.

"Come on. Just a little more to go. We... We've lost a friend, yes, but now we are on the front lines. We cannot afford to mourn. We must not waver. Cazel's death is one more reason to end this war and drive these Rotarian invaders our of our homeland! Foward, into the factory!"

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The reason for the sunlight in this area was that a bomber had crash landed and somehow managed to rip the top half of the sewer line off, turning it into a stone and steel trench. As the group approached the factory, Vasili kept hearing singular gunshots from somwhere on the other side of where the Industrial Park was. Putting it out of his mind for the moment, he and his troops advanced to the factory where, upon nearing the sewer grate to the factory, it suddenly opened and three Tellanian soldiers, two armed with Sh-29 SMGs with 71 round drums and the third who was as large as Mikhail hefted a LMG22 Light Machinegun.

"Halt and identify yourselves!"

Vasili stepepd forward.

"Staff Sergeant Vasili Alexandr, Eleventh Army, Sharpshooter Regiment. This is Lieutenant Alenkov, Eleventh Army, Assault Corps. We're all that's left of the merged Eighth Volunteers." One of the soldiers looked at Vasili's rifle then back to him.

"Sharpshooter? Have you been behind those shots we've been hearing every so often in the west of the city?" Vasili nodded.

"My unit was tasked with holding the residential district but then the enemy started bombarding it, destroying buildings and I decided to get the survivors with me and make for the factory here, that is, if you still have a standing force here." One of the soldiers glowered.

"You intend to desert?" Vasili shook his head.

"No. I believed that the best way to help hold the city was to regroup with whatever forces we still had and hold out for as long as possible. I and those with me fully intend to fight to the last round but, with our supply camps in the Residential destroyed, we had to come here. Who's in command here?"

"That would be comrade Commander Illyich. He's on the floor right now mustering what remains of the morale here. Those Rotarian bastards have been raking the factory with machinegun fire for days now. Worse, they started executing POWs on the wall in plain view of our soldiers who, quite frankly, are good shots but are no marksmen. It may be possible the Commander may have a duty that you may be suited for. Come on, the stink of these sewers is making me ill."

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Okay, so the group has made it safely to the factory. What will happen next? Find out next chapter!

Next Chapter: Not One Step Back.


	49. Not One Step Back

Hey everyone. Well, I apologize for the delay. I've been on a bit of a Fallout bender for a while. Still can't play Fallout 4 thanks to my lack of a Xbox One, but I've been keeping busy replaying Fallout New Vegas and Fallout Shelter. Kinda been hoping that something would shake loose and allow me to write a few chapters for my Fallout fanfic on DA.

Anyway, got some ideas together for World Fury and now here we are. Enjoy.

Not much action in this one, just a group of soldiers trying to survive.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 48: Not One Step Back

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_Day 88_

_13 Floodrain, 1933_

_1130 hours_

_Record of Staff Sergeant Vasili Alexandr_

_Federal 8th Volunteer Corps/ Federal 11th Army_

_What madness is responsible that drives men to make so costly a sacrifice for so little a gain?_

_This morning, the Commander ordered a charge from the factory to the enemy emplacements where they were fortifying their positions and openly executing POWs, right before our eyes. I understand grief, having lost Cazel in those damned sewers, but not this needless slaughter._

_All the soldiers we met in the factory, or nearly all of them, are now dead, including the Commander. He led the men straight into the machinegun traps the enemy had built specifically to repel such a direct assault. The wounded dragged themselves through God only knows how much mud, shit, and rot to the factory. The doctor expects that, without proper care, more than half will die of infections._

_Yet, the enemy withdrew. Those of us still capable of fighting now reverse their own machineguns on them and take shots at them as they try to retake the position. The bodies are piling up on both sides. For every one of us they kill we kill ten. The beautiful park that once sat in front of the factory is now a hideous, crater-scarred mass grave. Rotarian bodies lay unburied next to our brothers and sisters. The ground drinking their blood without care if it's from native child or foreign invader._

_If one is careful, you can use the bodies of the dead for cover in leu of sandbags or proper cover. However, there is a drawback to this. The mud makes it difficult to tell who is dead or alive. Try to take cover by one of our own wounded, he'll awake with a start and try to scream at you to get him the hell out of here. If it's an enemy..._

_...well, let's just say that already there's a few who are sticking their bayonets into enemy bodies at the drop of a hat, making sure they aren't 'playing possum'._

_It would be effective, if only they weren't so jittery they keep sticking the same dead corpse over and over again. They know he's dead, the lack of a head proves that, but they keep sticking him anyway. Docs call it 'shellshock', Generals call it 'cowardice', others call it 'battle-fatigue'._

_Well, I can say this for certain... there's a hell of a lot of that going around._

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The moans and screams of the wounded were near deafening in the silence of the factory. Quietly Vasili hoped against hope that they would recover. Yet, staring at the ghastly injuries they each suffered, he doubted that one in eight would survive. The doctors, or what they had that passed for doctors, in an effort to keep morale up, gave a more optimistic one in three.

Yet, most people not half-fevered with infection or delirious with fatigue could smell what they were selling and silently muttering prayers requesting forgiveness, mercy, shelter, succor, even a few prayers for safe passage. There was a saying that there are no non-believers in foxholes. Or in half bombed out factories. Whether you were a religious and pious man or a low down scoundral or simply didn't put much stock into faith, the fact remained that you prayed in times of crisis.

The soldiers were losing hope. That much was obvious. The morale officer, in an attempt to put the men at ease, has managed to fix an old record player and is currently playing whatever records he can find that are not broken, scratched, or being used for target practice. They had little ammunition remaining in the factory. Most of it went out the door with the men who stormed the fortifications across the park.

Most of that remained unused, still slung over soldiers shoulders as their bodies sank into the mire and muck. Barely sixteen men out of the original three hundred survived the crossing and then they had put up such a fight the enemy had panicked and retreated. Vasili gazed around and saw his small group offering what little comfort they could to their comrades. An irritated comms officer was trying everything he knew to get an old dynamo/vacuum tube radio to start working so that he could transmit messages.

He almost had it a few times but something always happened. Either the dynamo stalled, a tube failed, or someone carelessly bumped into the table jarring the nearly gone piece of equipment. The last incident was a doctor rushing by to a patient who suddenly started convulsions and passed away just as the doctor reached him. This time he angrily threw his headset to the floor and started cursing the medic out and calling him every variation of a bastard known to man, even a few NOT known to man. The young medic actually flushed with a mixture of embarassment and amazement at the tirade.

Vasili chuckled to himself as he listened.

_(If my grandmother were still alive, she'd have grabbed him by the shirt collar and washed his mouth out with soap...)_

Suddenly, a young soldier, his face coated in dirt and old grease came running in, rifle held in one hand, a wild look in his eyes.

"We need men to the embankment! The enemy's trying to retake the emplacements!"

At the sound of that several of the walking wounded, and a few of the more severely injured, rose from their spots, grabbed whatever weapons were closest and walked, ran, or hobbled out of the factory as best as they could. Vasili grabbed his rifle, ammo belt, and climbed an old ladder to the second floor of the factory and set up on the north face of the building.

The embankment was well within rifle range, provided that you had a scope mounted (which no one other than Vasili had) or you were pretty damn confidant in your eyes. On the walkway on his left and right, a few sharpshooters took up position. They didn't have scopes but their eyesight was exceptionally keen.

"Sergeant, can you cover the center of the embankment and the park? Gorochek and I can cover the left and right flanks." Vasili nodded and leveled his rifle at the embankment, waiting for the first sign of Rotarian forces to appear.

The second that he saw the unique 'soup pot' helmets that the Rotarians wore, he effortlessly cycled the bolt, chambering a round into the rifle. His first target, a sergeant, was turning left and right, obviously egging the men onwards. Through the scope, he saw the man's moustache and beard, ragged and starting to show grey in spots. He had a face hardened by time in battle, made all the more apparent by a jagged scar that ran from the left side of his neck, up his face, and presumably, up onto the scalp. He had brown eyes, eyes that despite the hardness within, held a softer light when gazing at the troops to his left and right.

He was the old man, the kids next to him were _his_ kids. They looked to him for encouragement, for example, and for strength. If he could do it, they could do it. Vasili gave a moment to wonder what the man had done before the war. He spared a chuckle that he realized how similar that he and the sergeant were. Still, there was a difference.

Vasili leveled the crosshairs over the sergeant and squeezed the trigger, then watched as the expressions of the soldiers around the sergeant changed from a steady confidance to outright shock, and then terror as the sergeant's headless corpse fell backwards, the empty helmet clanking on the broken street and rolling away. Despite how similar they were, he was the enemy. Vasili reloaded and thought back to something as he started firing into the Rotarian ranks.

_(War is a creature that devours good men and gives nothing in return. How many good men have already lost their lives? How many more will it take until the war is won?)_

A Rotarian soldier, watching his comrades fall left and right, gathered his courage and made a dash for the embankment, evidentally trying to reach cover to counter-snipe. Vasili watched as he ran down the street for the moment, dodging bullets as the whizzed by him like he was a hero in the movies. Seeing one of their own boldly rushing the lines, rifle readied, bayonet fixed, seemingly invulnerable to the hap-hazzard rifle, pistol, SMG, and machinegun fire. Grenades exploded to his left and right, showering him with bits of dirt, concrete and asphalt. Using the hashmarks in his scope, he leveled them over the charging soldier, said a prayer for forgiveness, and squeezed the trigger.

The Rotarian soldier, a young private, staggered as the round struck home and went straight through him. Then, Vasili muttered a curse as the soldier, gritting his teeth in both pain and determination, straightened himself and started towards the embankment again.

_(A hero is not a person who simply does his duty. He is a person who doesn't give a damn about himself and seeks to protect his friends and comrades.)_ Vasili watched as the soldier came forward, rifles on both sides falling silent in absolute shock as he made his way forward, blood leaking from his mouth. Vasili knew from that he'd hit a lung but then checked his scope.

_(It's zeroed in... how the hell is he still walking when that round should have gone through his heart?)_ Then he remembered something. A medical condition he had once seen on the farm in a cow and that he had learned that occured with humans as well. It was a rare condition that was present in roughly one out of every ten thousand people. Dextro-cardia, all internal organs in the _opposite_ place they should have been. This young man must have been that one in ten thousand...

As the soldier reached the embankment, the spell over the Tellanian defenders broke and three machineguns, six SMGs, and twelve rifles opened up on him, riddling his body with bullets. The body slumped and fell at the bottom of the barricade. Now the Rotarians broke from their silence and started firing at the embankment again, forcing the Tellanians to take cover and return fire.

Vasili fired the last round in the clip and pulled the bolt to reload when a loud whistling was heard. He looked to his left and right and yelled.

"Incoming mortars! Take cover!"

Mortars began falling behind the embankment and into the park. The trail of explosives worked their way towards the factory as the crews beyond sight and range adjusted their trajectories. The first solid hit on the factory struck the corner of the old building, knocking a tractor-sized hole in the wall and bursting some pipes that had stagnant, foul-smelling water still in them which showered all over the doctors and the wounded they tried, ineffectually, to shield from the debris and dust. Another hit struck the foreman's office which broke the supports and made the third floor office drop like an anvil _through_ the second floor and landed, ludicrously intact, on the factory floor. Apparently, the foreman who ran the building had a habit of bolting his belongings down so that they wouldn't 'walk off'.

Before anyone could catch their breath, a round came in at an obsenely high angle and detonated halfway up one of the factories few remaining smokestacks. The whip crack of snapping cables and the crunching of stone and metal buckling drew the attention of the soldiers who watch as the smokestack tilted by slight degrees until it passed the point of no return and started to fall. One of the cables whipped around, shearing a makeshift barricade on the roof in half as well as cutting another stack's cables which started it falling as well.

The first stack broke into six sections as it landed, creating an odd 'tunnel-bridge' path that led to the city canal that was now choked with burnt and scuttled riverboats and destroyed bridges. The second came apart as it stood and the whole structure telescoped downwards into the smelters which, being a longhouse-style building, channeled the dust and smoke from the collapse right into the factory. Vasili coughed and hacked as the dust blew in and he shook his head to try and get his ears to pop so that he could hear properly again. Doctors struggled to dust themselves off while also examining their patients to make sure none of the dust and debris got into open wounds.

As Vasili gazed outside at the damage, he heard one of the other marksmen curse as he came up beside them.

"Bastards can't break through the front door so they blow through the back. Our entire right flank is now exposed and the enemy can send troops through the ruined stack in cover until they're right on our doorstep." Vasili looked to him.

"Do we have any mines or materials to make mines?" The sniper shrugged.

"Damned if I know. That supply sergeant was in the smelters when the stack came down. There may be something there but I doubt it's intact. What would you need in place of mines?"

"Gunpowder, nails, cans, pipes, and blasting caps or something similar. We can't make mines that can kill an enemy proper but we can make dirty bombs that maim and incapacitate." The sniper nodded and started down the stairs towards the smelters.

He returned moments later with a box full of metal shards and filings, broken tools, and nails as well as twenty-eight segments of lead pipe. He looked at Vasili expectantly as he went over the items.

"Good work. Now, for the fuel... what kind of rounds do we have plenty of yet we have no use for them?" The sniper left and returned with another box of Rotarian rifle bullets.

"Been finding these cheap pieces of junk everywhere. How the hell the Rotarians use such a little bullet is beyond me. Hell, even the Syllian rifles use a bigger round than this thing. What do we do next?"

"Here, I'll show you."

Vasili relied on his intuition (and a little experience because he HAD made one of these before though without shrapnel as a prank to scare some of the local bullies when he was little) and soon several pipe explosives and cannister bombs were made, armed, and some of the less injured were taking the traps to the fallen smokestack.

"Sergeant, any idea if they'll work?" Vasili sighed.

"There's no doubt they'll work. The question is not if but _when_. A man could step on one of those things and it either blow his leg off or simply make him land on his ass. If we had better primers or triggers it would be a certainty but... I give them a roughly forty percent success rate. Either way, the enemy spots them, they'll be cautious and take their time clearing them and that can buy us time for whatever need happen next." One of the soldiers, a wounded Junior Lieutenant, looked to him.

"Sergeant... what do YOU think needs to happen?" Vasili grimaced and gazed about the factory.

"When this place was intact it gave us pretty decent cover. Now the place is falling down around our heads. Not to mention the enemy has now moved mortars into positionAt the risk of sounding like a defeatist, I would suggest a withdrawal, under cover of night, to a position within the city that we know would have been fortified in a time of war such as a hospital, a train station, police department, any kind of government or civil service structure still standing." A young private came up, his eyes knowing.

"Sergeant, Lieutenant, I'm from here. There's a train station three miles east of here, then there's a hospital one mile south, and a police department and civil engineers workshop right next door." Vasili smiled and then looked around for the person he needed and saw him.

"Mishka! Over here!" Mishka came over and nodded to the Lieutenant and then faced Vasili.

"I need you and this young man here to travel south of the factory. With any luck, you should be able to reach a hospital nearby with a police department and a workshop nearby. If there is no sign of the enemy, come back here and report to the Commander in charge, whoever the hell that is at the moment, and then we can hopefully start to evacuate our wounded, our supplies, and ourselves to the new fortified positions."

Mishka nodded and together with the young man left the factory through the back way on their mission. The Lieutenant looked to Vasili and gave a sigh of relief.

"I can see now why Lieutenant Alenkov trusts you like he does. You have a gift Sergeant. If we make it out of this alive, I'm recomending you for promotion, maybe even an officer's commission." Vasili chuckled.

"Kind of you sir but I'm happy where I am for now. I prefer just being one Sergeant amongst many. Unlike people who perform heroics to get noticed, I just want to be forgotten when the war's over and go back to my farm and my family. If I make it through the war that's what I'll do. Just retire back to the old back forty. A man my age has no buisness trying to play hero in a young man's war. I'm content to just share my knowledge and experience with others and use my skills to keep as many of you kids alive as I can." The Lieutenant chuckled and nodded before returning to his post.

It was night before Mishka returned with the young soldier, both of them pale and desperate. When they were asked what had happened, Mishka told Vasili and the others what he had seen.

Column after column of medium tanks had already taken the square and the officers had set themselves up in the police department, the wounded in the hospital, and the enlisted in the workshop. Based on the chatter they overheard, the troops were going to try and flank the factory from the south, catch the holdouts in a pincer attack from both North and South. Vasili sighed and looked to the Commander of the little group, his face stern.

"That settles it sir. We'd best pull our men off the barricade and rig it to blow with what explosives we have left and evacuate. It's dark so there's a good chance we can reach the train station before daybreak." The officer nodded solumnly and then gave orders for the wounded to be carried by all able bodied soldiers. What couldn't be taken would be trapped or destroyed.

Once again, Vasili was placed with his group of survivors and they started the trudge east towards the station, a wounded comrade hanging on to each shoulder for support. As if to match the mood, an unseasonable storm was starting to brew. Just as Vasili stepped out of the shelter of the factory roof, he felt a mix of rain and snow start falling.

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Well, that's this chapter done, I hope ya'll like the setting I've set. Anyway, as with all things, the situation will get worse before it gets better.

I finally got my head back above water so I'll try to put a rush order on these next few chapters. If I can't update regularly, don't worry. Bit of good news, the firehouse here in Bellwood is finally getting rebuilt. The old one was just a step up from condemned so we'll be tearing down the old one and building a newer one. The bad news, the local roads are getting worse... go figure.

Next Chapter: Vasili's Express


	50. Vasili's Express

Well, I've said it before that I'm continually amazing myself but this time I mean it. I mean seriously, who'd have thought that this story I started is almost at the fifty chapter mark? If I didn't already have something planned for Chapter 50 (and the next ten or so chapters after that) I'd have put a little filler in there for a laugh... then again, I usually dislike putting fillers in my stories because I feel they detract from the events already in motion... not all do but for some reason, like lemons, I can't write proper fillers to save my life...

Anyway, enough with the small talk, let's get on with the story...

Dang it... here comes the rain again...

Chapter 49: Vasili's Express

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_Day 90_

_15 Floodrain, 1933_

_0539 hours_

_Record of Master Sergeant Vasili Alexandr_

_Federal 8th Volunteer Corps/ Federal 11th Army_

_Well, it's happened. The enemy is officially tired of our resistance and has decided to put an end to us. According to Mishka who just got back (barely) from an unauthorized scouting mission, we have roughly three tank divisions heading our way. All mediums._

_The best defence we've got? A few broken down bazookas, some captured explosives, a few landmines (anti-personel, we're lucky but not __**that**__ lucky), and a few barrels of tank fuel which is useless because we don't have a tank._

_Radio's recieving intermitant bursts of traffic. Sounds like gibberish to me, using words like 'Leviathan'. Sounds like a ship name but without a suffix I have no idea if it's one of our's or one of their's._

_In light of the (new) Commander's death and my group's 'heroics' during the fighting yesterday, the Alenkov has seen fit to promote me to Master Sergeant and allocate to me an entire platoon to lead; despite the fact that we lost the position and had to fall back to an old train station. He's also given us a real bitch of a mission._

_We're to leave the city, steal what we believe to be a troop/transport train, and drive it back through the Rotarian forces, through the ruined city, and back here to the station._

_Simple, right?_

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The rain had picked up since they left the train station. Vasili's rain slicker (which was in fact an old station manager's rain slicker) did next to nothing to keep the rain out. The old rubber in the material was dry and cracked and allowed the cold rain access to his clothes. He'd been out in the rain before on the farm when helping animals with stalled births or other accidents but this was the first time he'd even been soaked all the way down from head to toe.

His shirt was damp and clingy, his boots squelched when he walked, his socks were soaked through, as were his trousers, and even his smallclothes. Still, he didn't complain as he and his platoon marched on through the muck and mud that lined the old railway. The men and women behind him didn't gripe, perhaps seeing their leader withstand the cold rain and not make a peep of discomfort was what kept them silent. Or perhaps they just didn't want to risk that the heavy rainfall wouldn't mask voices as it so easily did their bodies.

They were officially behind enemy lines, in pursuit of a train someone had seen in the distance using a pair of damaged binoculars that had evidentally been stopped due to the incliment weather. The scout had guessed the length at ten, maybe fifteen cars. Too long for a troop train and too short for a civilian freight and passenger consist. That left one possibility.

A supply train.

Supply trains traveled the rails more often than troop trains and were often loaded from floorboards to rafters with food, medicine, weapons, ammo, not to mention other equipment. Most of them didn't care if it was all Rotarian stamped equipment. Just the chance of getting into a fresh change of clothes or perhaps a rain slicker that didn't leak and the chance at a warm meal that wasn't canned gave them the lift their sagging morale desperately needed.

Vasili looked to one of the men closest to him, a young man named Oskar who had worked on the railroad as a fireman for the old steam locomotives before he was drafted into the war. He had been a scarce two weeks from completing his engineer's exam and being granted a license to operate the large steam and electric engines that ran the Trans-Federal Railway or perhaps even a spot on the coveted new 'Federal-Royal Line' that was build to link Tellanos and Syllia together economically.

The young man, scarcely twenty-four years old, was his PAACO, **P**rotect **A**t **A**ll **C**ost **O**bjective. No matter what happened, should they come under fire or the Abyss itself rise up and make war on the world, he was to protect Oskar with his life if they were to secure that train and drive it safely back to the station. Vasili pulled up a waterlogged map of the area and gazed at the circle and estimated how far they had walked in the rain and motioned for Oskar to come over.

"How far do you think we are from the train?" Oskar gazed at the map and did some quick numbers before answering.

"If the train is still stopped at Kovalanko Bridge, we should be another ten minutes from it. Even if they decide to start it up and leave, they'd need at least thirty-five minutes with all the proper checks and precautions. Then there's waiting for steam to build up, securing the cargo, boarding of guards, mounting of guns. In short, starting a train this size isn't a fast action. That's why most smaller railways are switching to electric or crystal-drive engines. If the larger railways are able to get six trains running in three hours and still turn a profit, what about the smaller railways able to get two or three trains running in less than twenty?" Vasili nodded that he understood but in truth he didn't. He was not a railroad man, he was a farmer. In peacetime he sold cows, chickens, eggs, milk, and other products in the winter and sold parts of his harvest and hay for neighboring farms in the summer.

Still, ten minutes to get to the train and thirty-five minutes to get it started? Forty-five minutes in total? That was forty minutes more than he felt was safe. He started going over how to ask Oskar if there was any possible way to speed things up when Oskar, apparently thinking the same thing, spoke first.

"While steam is building we can go over the primary safety checks, these are things that cannot be ignored. These include safe pressure buildup, checking tanks to make sure there are no blockages or leaks, making sure we have dry wood and coal, ensuring that the brakes work properly, and ensuring that all cars are connected safely and securely. The last checks can be delayed since we're going such a short distance." Vasili nodded and then gazed back.

"All in all, how much time do we need to buy you?"

"Ten, maybe fifteen minutes. I know that's more time than we'd feel safe with but there's only so many things we can ignore before we start courting disaster. The last thing I want is another Kresta Raketnyy Incident." Vasili grimaced, remembering the accident when he'd heard of it.

The Kresta Raketnyy, or Kresta Rocket, had been the largest express in the Federation, constantly running back and forth, east to west and back again and was considered the rival to the Syllian 'Leviathan' Express. It's reign lasted ten years before an engineer, in an effort to keep his timetables accurate, neglected several checks and halfway through the return trip, the Kresta Raketnyy Homeward Express, a consist of four locomotives, sixteen passenger cars, and fourteen cargo cars derailed halfway across the Kalyek Iron Bridge and plummeted into the Vishagov Ravine. Only seven people who leapt from the last passenger car as it went over the side survived while over six hundred passengers and rail crew perished as the train exploded upon hitting the bottom.

It was the worst disaster in Tellanian history and gave way to stricter regulations that any train crewman abandoning safety checks for the sake of coming in on time would be terminated on the spot and blacklisted against all other companies that had anything to do with the railway.

It was incentive enough that since the incident, trains may have run late but they always followed proper safety checks and passed all inspections. For Oskar to do something that he had been told since day one of his instruction to NEVER ignore was unnerving to the man. Still, this was war, the station was less than ten miles away over a straight, level track and grade. No one would report him to the National Railway Inspection Committee at this point in time.

As the group advanced further along, the rain was joined by mist and fog that reduced any sort of visibility to nothing. Vasili could only just see the ground before him. He gazed around and saw a few of his troops and went close and whispered for them to hold fast, pass it along, and keep their heads down. He himself continued forward for a bit until he heard the sound of gravel under his boots. He knew he was _somewhere_ near the rail lines but he didn't know , he heard something fall and a loud _klang_ that got his attention and he heard a groan and then some laughter.

"Jorgen, sir! Don't try to do anything in _this_ weather. The train isn't going anywhere." The reply was curt.

"Well it's not so much the train I'm worried about as the _cargo_ in case you have forgotten what kind of train you are guarding Sergeant Major."

From the condescending tone, it stood fair to reason that this Jorgen was an officer and one of the ones in charge of the train. Vasili suddenly was aware of another fact. Jorgen's voice came from his _right_ and the other voice from his _left_. Vasili took three steps forward and walked straight into the wooden door of a boxcar. Stunned but nevertheless delighted at the find, he quickly worked his way around the car, groping along the way until he found the ladder the allowed for climbing up onto the roof of the car. He was still invisible in the mist but he then had an idea. He coughed, cleared his throat and then, in a loud voice shouted.

"Enemies from the north! Tellanian troops incoming!" To punctuate this, he fired his rifle and gave a cry akin to a man getting hit.

To his delight, the response was immediate. Rotarian soldiers were jumping around firing rounds this way and that trying to find 'north'. Whether by luck or chance, several of the Rotarians, in blind panic, started shooting at where their own fellows were likely to be, their cries of being shot emboldened the shooters and they kept up the fire. Then another voice from the fog.

"Get the train ready for departure _NOW_! Guards to the car tops!" This time the voice came from right below him. Hoping he didn't break something doing this reckless stunt, Vasili leapt from the top of the car and, to his relief, landed on top of the officer, Jorgen, knocking him out. At that moment, some of his soldiers came up and he pointed to the officer.

"Bind him and throw him in one of the cars. Where's Oskar?"

At the mention of his name, Oskar came forward, panting and saluted.

"Let's get you to the engine and prepare to depart. Where's Mikail? He was supposed to be alongside us." One of the soldiers slumped and gazed at him.

"He tried to rise and cause another panic but was caught by a stray round. He's dead." Vasili cursed but then motioned Oskar forward.

Walking alongside him, Vasili and the three soldiers reached what appeared to be the locomotive and tried to climb up. Apparently the engineer was already there.

"Hans? Hans is that you? All checks are complete?" Oskar answered in the affermative. but then there was a shout.

"Kalvin! There's a weak chain between the sixth and seventh cars! We need to strengthen the connection!" At that outburst, the engineer turned, spotted Oskar stepping on board and shouted, at the same time firing a pistol that struck the young female soldier who had been with them in the neck.

"Alarm! Tellanians are trying to take the train!" Instantly, Oskar drove a knife in between the engineers ribs one, twice, three times, and his next cry died on his lips as air seeped out of his punctured lungs. Still, the alarm had been raised. Bullets could be heard hitting the steel cab of the train as Vasili pulled Oskar down and motioned for him to start the train moving and then yells out.

"Third Platoon! Get on the train, we're moving out!" The two soldiers with him were armed with an Sh-29 SMG and LMG22. They set their weapons on the tender of the train and started firing where they assumed the Rotarian soldiers were. Vasili looked over to Oskar and watched him work.

The first thing he did was release the brake lever. Then, he opened the vents to let some fresh air into the furnace. Next up, he opened up the water flow to the boiler andopened the steam pipes and checked his gauges. Once that was good and all the gauges lined up properly, he grabbed a lever by his side and slowly pushed forward on it.

The sound of metal on metal is one that grates on a man's nerves. Even the most experienced railroad men hate the sound of the metal wheels grinding on the metal rails trying to start the train moving. Oskar went over to a smaller lever and pulled it and almost immediately, the grinding lessened and Vasili felt the train start forward. After a minute, he released the smaller lever and went back to the throttle, easing it forward a little bit more.

Much to Vasili's relief, the fog was clearing, he was able to see further and now had enough cover to set his rifle up on the metal bannister of the cab and aim down the scope at the incoming enemies. He heard as the train started to slide into an easy rhythm. Then, without warning, Oskar tapped his shoulder. The noise of the steam forcing the young man to shout.

"We forgot to switch tracks! If we don't change the tracks now we'll be heading for Rotiart! We need to realign the tracks from Track Fifteen to Track Twenty!" Vasili tapped the submachinegunner and told him the problem and he leapt down and ran for the switch track. While he ran, Vasili and the gunner covered him as the Rotarians were now turning around and sending rounds their way, deciding to shoot the engineer and stop the train rather than risk losing it.

The soldier made it to the switch and lifted the lever, twisted it, and then let it drop. He gazed at the points and nodded as they were now aligned with the track they wanted to take. As he turned to return to the cab, the machinegunner next to Vasili cursed as the weapon jammed. Vasili was in the middle of a reload and saw a soldier lift his head up from the cover behind an overturned coal hopper and aim at the soldier who had switched the track. Vasili hurried with the clip and shouted a warning.

Too late.

The rifleman fired just as Vasili got the fresh clip loaded he then aimed and fired, killing the enemy riflemen and then looked out to see if the soldier had been hit. He watched as the train rolled by the soldier's motionless corpse. Single round through the heart. Quick compared to some of the ways Vasili had seen men die. He did a check and made sure that the soldier's body was clear of the train before ducking back inside. He felt the locomotive lurch left and begin a slow laborous turn down the correct track.

As the engine cleared the turn and the first car started the turn, Vasili heard cheering and looked back to see his men on the roofs of the cars, cheering wildly. He grimaced.

"Knock that off! It's too early to be celebrating like a bunch of-"

_"VASILI!"_

Vasili felt himself being pushed just as a shot rang out. Vasili drew his sidearm and aimed instinctively where the shot had came from and shot the fireman who had been running alongside trying to catch up with his engine. A thump made him turn and saw as the gunner fell to the floor of the cab. Vasili went forward, grabbed his coat and ripped it open, revealing a red stain quickly spreading over the white shirt underneath. The soldier gave a tired smile and sighed.

"It had to be one of us Sergeant. I would have rather it been me than you. I just... I would have liked to have seen... how my country would have looked... once the war was over... and we had recovered..."

The hurried pistol shot from the fireman had nicked the aeorta, the main blood vessel for the entire body. Vasili consoled himself that with such a wound there was nothing anyone could have done but the words were hollow. He'd lost four of his soldiers, soldiers who had volunteered to be under his command. Mikail, one of his originals, and now three more he hadn't had the chance of learning their names.

"I hope this train is worth it..." Oskar gazed at Vasili and nodded.

"They believed it was Master Sergeant." Vasili sighed and nodded and then sat back as the train picked up speed and headed down the track to the station.

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The trip thankfully was uneventful as Vasili came to with the sound of Oskar applying the locomotive's brakes and pulling the throttle back to a 'stop' position. On the platform, several soldier, including Alenkov and Mishka were cheering wildly. Vasili smiled as he thought of how they must be feeling now.

_(We did it. We somehow pulled a miracle out of thin air and gave the enemy one hell of a black eye in one go. We took a heavily defended supply train right out from under their noses...)_

Vasili rose and stepped to and wearily consented to people shaking his hand and clapping him on the back. Seeing Alenkov, Vasili nodded.

"Lieutenant, we have returned with the train. The operation was a success, but we sustained four casualties." Alenkov nodded and shook his hand.

"That's better than we'd hoped. I honestly thought it was a suicide mission and that I was sending my best NCO and some of my best soldiers to get butchered. I'm glad you made it back. Now then, let's crack this train open and get a look at those supplies." The men cheered at that until one of the men came up, a stern expression on his face.

"Sir. The first six cars are supply cars but... the others..." The soldier motioned for them to follow him and he led them to the car immediately after the sixth car and opened the door. Instead of supplies, clean clothes, and fresh food, they were greeted with the faces and hopeful gazes of almost sixty soldiers dressed in threadbare Tellanian uniforms. Upon seeing Vasili, one of the men rose and saluted.

"Major Sergei Rasvitan, aide to the late Lieutenant-General Josef Reznov. These men here are what remains of the Federal Tenth and Eleventh Armies."

Moments later, the Rotarian soldier Vasili had knocked unconscious was brought up bound with rope and a gag stuffed in his mouth along with a few others captured close to the rear of the train. Judging from the dark looks of the prisoners, the officer had been on a particularly bad side with them. Vasili glanced at his shoulders and saw his rank and smiled involuntarily.

Vasili had captured a Lieutenant-Colonel of the Rotarian Army.

As the soldiers cheered at being freed from their boxcar prisons, the supply clerks came forward and opened up the supply cars and started trundling away the supplies to inventory. It would not mean much with this many more mouths to feed but, in a situation like this, Vasili was glad to have more soldiers he knew were on _his_ side for a change.

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Whew! Man my hands hurt. Hold on a second... cracks knuckles

There! Now I'm loosened up a bit. So, you all liked this chapter? It's all coming together isn't it. Two more chapters until Syllian reinforcements arrive. Can Vasili and his group hold out until then? Just keep on reading and find out!

Next Chapter: Between Hammer and Anvil Part 1


	51. Between Hammer and Anvil

Hey everyone! Well, I'm still kicking so don't you worry about me none. Weathers done cleared up and now it's buisness as usual again. On an upside, we can finally get started tearing down that old wasp nest of a firehouse on the hill and start building a brand new one.

Anyway, I want to tell ya'll something funny that happened to a cousin of mine a few days ago. He was out drinking with some buddies when in walks this guy and asks the bartender for the strongest thing on the list. Turns out the strongest they had was a 190 proof shot.

The guy orders it, my cousin, wanting to save the guy a load of embarrassment, tells him that he won't be able to hold it and the guy scoffs and tosses back the shot anyway. After a few minutes, he's still standing and smiling and looks at my cousin with an 'I told you I could do it' look and then, without warning, falls backwards, perfectly straight, and lands flat on his back and is snoring. His buddy who came in with him comes up and taps him, asks him why he's planking in the middle of a bar and then tells the bartender he'll have what his friend had.

Needless to say, after a few more minutes, there were _two _people lying in the middle of the bar floor with people trying to wake them to ask them why they were planking.

For all of ya'll looking forward to this benchmark, here's chapter 50!

Chapter 50: Between Hammer and Anvil

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_Day 92_

_17 Floodrain, 1933_

_0600_

_Record of Master Sergeant Vasili Alexandr_

_They're calling it a bloody miracle. As if I was some sort of angel from God. The train we fought so hard for and that Mikail and three others died for was not a troop train, nor a supply train. It was in fact a POW train that was to start heading west towards Rotiart._

_One of the officers we captured broke under 'interrogation' and told us of radio reports indicating Federation and Syllian forces were heading here and that they meant to open a third front._

_Naturally this news went over like a seven-day liberty to some, but to others it was like a lead turd in the punchbowl. Lots of bad blood between Tellanos and Syllia, most of it our fault but people don't like to admit it._

_The prisoners we rescued from the train are a motley bunch, some riflemen, some heavy gunners, pilots, mechanics, even got six or seven full tank crews. Only problem is that most of them are sick with dysentary, some have the shakes, others are simply too exhausted to do a damn thing. They spent the better part of yesterday going through some of the fresh rations, and the whole night barfing them back up._

_Radio transmissions are getting stronger, meaning our friends are close by. However, we've also picked up a few enemy transmissions. They've got a new commander, and there's three things he doesn't take: bullshit, excuses, and prisoners. Sounds a bit like our Commander, only his men have to fear getting shot by __**us**__. This Sergei Rasvitan guy, he's six kinds of crazy. Shot a kid for stepping outside to take a shit calling it 'desertion'. Pistol went off halfway in the draw so the round hit low. Kid'll live, but he'll have to take care when sitting down for a while. Bastard's crazy, but not stupid._

_I hope our friends hurry the hell up or else there won't be anyone here left to save._

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"This is Junior-Lieutenant Eli Pasternak of the Tellanian Tenth Army calling Allied Task Force. If you can read me, please respond."

The radio gave only static in responce though it was again broken by the same message that had been coming through for the past six hours.

_"This is the FNV Gorchek of the Tellanian Federal Navy, we are broadcasting on all Federation frequencies in the hopes of reaching the Resistance cells still fighting for the Motherland. We are currently sailing with the Syllian, Espan, and Anoziran Navies in an attempt to open a third front. This message is to encourage those of you still behind enemy lines to keep fighting and for those of you close to where the Pelican's Nest overlooks the Bay to head there with all haste as we shall be arriving there within days. If you can transmit to us, send any intel you have to us along secure channel Dog-Four."_

The monotony was broken by one of the more mechanically-minded soldiers accidentally dropping a wrench as he worked to repair some of the weapons that were in a poorer state of repair than the others. Even Vasili had (reluctantly) surrendered his rifle so that the proper repairs could be done on the battered weapon. Thankfully, there was plenty to do while his weapon was being repaired. The train station was massive, almost as large as the factory, but thanks to some rushed fortifications in the early days of the war, it had withstood the occupation better than the factory. The only real weak spots in the building was the large skylight in the roof of the Grand Terminal and the almost wall-sized glass overlook where, in more peaceful times, children and adults alike would stand with rapt attention as trains pulled into and out of the station.

The rest of the structure was more akin to a fortress than a civilian structure. But that was to be expected.

Federal Military Stature 141B/4-TS was the law that required all buildings deemed 'vital to military and national safety' be reinforced to what, before the war, seemed a ludicrous extreme. Passed after the Callinar Incursion, everything from triple rebar-reinforced concrete slabs, two-inch thick steel panels, even laminated glass and the _very _expensive titanium support brackets was used to bolster the defenses of said buildings. They even went as far as to create two-man pillboxes on the roof and fit quad AAA guns to the corners. The reinforcement had destroyed what some would have considered the 'natural asthetic' or 'beauty' of the buildings but when the word started to get out about the invasion, people who had snubbed the defences found themselves flocking to any building that bore the 'Red Star of Safety'.

The sign was, obviously, a giant red star on a white metal sign with the following words:

THIS BUILDING HAS BEEN REBUILT/REINFORCED WITH MILITARY-GRADE MATERIALS IN THE EVENT OF WAR. IN CASE OF EMERGENCIES, CIVILIANS SHALL BE ABLE TO TAKE SHELTER WITHIN THE STRUCTURE UNTIL THE DANGER HAS PASSED.

It may not have been much done to the station, but what little reinforcement had been done had worked wonders. Earlier that morning, a Rotarian recon fighter managed to evade the AAA and drop a bomb damn near the center of the building. The tempered glass of the skylight shook, and a few soldiers cursed at getting dust from the roof in their coffee but nothing else happened. According to the engineers they had, it would take a direct hit from a high-velocity tank shell to even scratch the drywall. The engineers had designed the buildings to withstand attacks from the air, given the amount of devastation wrought by the Callinians during the early days of the Incursion.

So far the enemy hadn't done anything but every man and woman in the group knew that the Rotarians were massing for a push that would knock them out of the city. Meanwhile, Alenkov was hunched over a man like an old man trying to decipher what had obviously been a riddle in the message. After cleaning his hands and stopping by the mess to grab a plate, Vasili came up to Alenkov and set the extra plate by him and sat down at the table.

"Alenkov. You need to eat something. If you keep staring at that map so intensely you're going to burn a hole through it." Alenkov grunted and sat down to poke at the pieces of canned ham they had been given.

"I just can't understand it. What the hell is 'the Pelican's Nest' and what Bay does it overlook? There are at least thirteen spots the message could be talking about and I have no idea where they're going." Vasili took a swallow of the bitter coffee and chuckled.

"Reminds me of a story my Father told me of the last war we had with Syllia. It was just after they crossed the border and all they had was a blank estimated map that they were to fill in as they advanced. Anyway, they wind up getting lost and one of the soldiers asks him what do they do? How do they find their way? My old man looks around, spots a bush and tells the private to go shake that bush. The private asks him why and he smiles and says: 'If you shake that bush and a bush here on the map shakes, then that's where we are.'"

Alenkov snorted and halfway spat out the coffee he had just took a sip from as he heard that and started laughing. Vasili smiled and then took a sip and turned back to him.

"Here's another one. A captain was sailing the high seas looking for enemy ships. One day, the lookout spots something, sounds the alarm, and the Captain, calmly, turns to his cabin boy and tells him to bring him his red shirt. The boy does so and then the Captain changes and they go into battle and win a tremendous victory. After the battle, the first mate turns to the Captain and asks why he wanted a red shirt to which the Captain replies that if he were wounded, the crew would not see the blood and continue to fight on."

"The next day, they spot another ship and the Captain again asks for the red shirt. They go into battle, another victory. The next day the same thing. Now, this goes on and on for several more days until finally one morning, the lookout peers out, pales and calls out an alarm that there's twenty enemy ships on the horizon. The crew, despite the challenge, look to their Captain, expectantly. The Captain, calm as can be, turns to the cabin boy and says: 'Boy. Bring me my brown pants.'" Alenkov laughed louder than before and sat his coffee down to avoid spilling it. Then, once he recovered, he chuckled.

"That's a good joke Vasili. Heh, can't beat mine though." Vasili smiled and nodded.

"Alright, let's have it."

"Okay, these four soldiers were in the middle of a boat in the middle of a lake. The oldest of the men was a real loyalist and told the other three that any man truly loyal to his country would be able to walk from the boat to the shore _without_ getting his feet wet. So, the first man, in an attempt to prove his loyalty, leaps out of the boat but splashes and sinks like a stone before swimming back up and climbing back aboard. The second man tries it and also sinks, swims back up and gets back in." Vasili chuckled, he liked where this joke was going. Alenkov continued.

"The third man now, he's seen his two friends fail and the old man looking more and more unimpressed. He gets up, takes one step out of the boat and then breaks into a dead run for the shore, barely even touching the surface of the water, much to the amazement of his fellows. Well, he reaches the shore. The two others and the old man come up to him and they ask him how the hell he did that. He turns to them and says: 'Oh, you mean you guys _didn't_ know about the stepping stones in the lake?'" Vasili let out a loud guffaw and banged his fist on the table laughing. Mishka, overhearing the jokes, came up laughing and set his plate down with them.

"If you don't mind, I also have one. My father was a fisherman and told me this one. One day a pirate was walking through the street when a kid came up and started looking at him. He had a peg leg, a hook, and an eyepatch and asked what happened to his leg. The pirate told him he'd been in a ship battle when a cannonball took his leg clean off. Instead of binding it up, he grabbed a broken piece of wood, stuck it into the stump, and hobbled back to his cannon."

"Then the boy asks, what happened to your hand? The pirate chuckles and tells the boy he was in a sword fight and the fellow he was fighting chopped his hand off. Instead of retreating, he grabbed a hook from the deck, stuck it into his arm, and continued the fight. The boy, enthralled by the story then remembers the last thing and asks the pirate what happened to his eye. The pirate then tells him that the day after the sword fight, he was looking up and a seagull swooped down and plopped one right in his eye. The boy looks to him and says 'That's not enough to make you lose an eye'. To which the pirate replied: 'No. But it was my first day with the hook.'"

Vasili chuckled at that and gazed at Alenkov who had rocked his chair back too far and suddenly, without warning, the chair slid out from under him and he landed on the floor, still laughing. Alenkov rose, fixed his chair, and still chuckling to himself, sat back down and poked at his lunch again.

"That's very funny Mishka. You said you father was a fisherman? Yet he lived in town?" Mishka shook his head.

"No, he _used_ to be a fisherman till one day he met my Mom while he was selling his catch in town. They told me it was love at first sight and he was able to talk my Mom's Dad into granting a position in his repair shop. It was better money than simply fishing and it allowed him to be closer to my Mom. Anyway, he used to fish out of a little village called Cardis which was on the Kolymski Bay. I remember that on his off days he would often take me fishing off a little shoal called the Nest. The seabirds, mostly seagulls and pelicans, were friendly enough that I was able to feed them what was too small for me to keep."

Alenkov suddenly looked at Mishka as if the words he'd said turned to gold and landed in front of him. He went to the map and pointed to it with an 'Aha!' moment and yelled for Major Rasvitan who came over, a little disgusted with being called in such an unprofessional way. Alenkov belayed his arguement with a finger to the map.

"Major. I know where our allies are landing. They are going to land here, near the town of Cardis. It's the only place that makes since. The waters around it are shallow enough for fishing vessels so, by comparison, they must be shallow enough for landing craft. There is a shoal there called 'the Nest' that hundreds of seagulls and pelicans use for hunting grounds." Rasvitan gave a smile as he looked at the map and then nodded.

"Good work Lieutenant. Now, we must formulate a plan on how to keep the enemy in place here so that they cannot rush the beaches and hit our reinforcements." Vasili looked to the Major who let his smile fade as he now had the undivided attention of his troops.

"Our allies and reinforcements shall land near Cardis, merely twenty-seven miles from Dovograd. In other words, we are all that stands between our allies' success or failure. For the sake of saving our country, we cannot be defeated and pushed back here. If we do, we give the enemy a clean shot at our vulnerable comrades. To borrow a popular phrase: we are the line in the sand. We cannot retreat, nor will we surrender. We are all that stands in the way of the enemy claiming final victory over the Federation." Vasili realized he was right and shuddered, speaking aloud.

"The fates of the many rest in the hands of us few." Rastinov turned to him and nodded.

"That is correct Master Sergeant. Effective immediately, I want all able-bodied soldiers to start doing double patrols. Anti-air gunners, instruct a few other in their use and operation. Engineers, I want all weapons capable of firing repaired, loaded, and issued to the soldiers before the day is up. If you have to cannibalize a weapon for parts, do so. If it is broken, either fix it or use the parts to repair another weapon. We will also need some more improvised explosives to trap the paths to the station and send a demo team up the tracks to destroy them and prevent the enemy from dropping an armored troop train on our heads."

As Rastinov turned away, a lone voice broke through the ranks. All turned to see one of the engineers, dutifully working on a rifle, starting to sing a song they had not heard in quite some time.

_'Tellanos, our homeland, the land of the free men. Tellanos, the glory of our deeds are yours. A strong heart, a firm hand, an unbending will shall see us triumphant wherever we roam.'_

_ 'Rise! Glorious Tellanos! Union of our Motherland! Our bodies, our lives, and our honor is yours! Never shall we flee or fail. Always, we shall win the day. Beloved Motherland, we adore you still today.'_

Vasili rose and removed his cap and joined with the young man.

_ 'Our home is the forests, the snowbanks and seas. From North to South we all are as One. Whene'r we are threatened we rise up with valor, to crush those who hate us and raise steel to us!'_

_ 'Rise! Glorious Tellanos! Union of our Motherland! Our bodies, our lives, and our honor is yours! Never shall we flee or fail. Always, we shall win the day. Beloved Motherland, we adore you still today.'_

Now all the others in the station started singing, adding their voices.

_'Though we prefer peace, we shan't waver in war. If our Motherland calls us, we shall answer her. With saber, with rifle, with axe and with cannon we defy all our enemies no matter their numbers!'_

_ 'Rise! Glorious Tellanos! Union of our Motherland! Our bodies, our lives, and our honor is yours! Never shall we flee or fail. Always, we shall win the day. Beloved Motherland, we adore you still today.'_

_ 'Rise! Glorious Tellanos! Union of our Motherland! Our bodies, our lives, and our honor is yours! Never shall we flee or fail. Always, we shall win the day. Beloved Motherland, we adore you still today.'_

When the group stopped singing, Vasili glanced around and saw not one among them had a dry eye. Even Rastinov watched them all through eyes shimmering with tears. The national anthem of Tellanos was a song that told of love for their country. It was this unwavering loyalty and love that had driven them thus far.

It would continue to do so again.

As the first group to patrol gathered their weapons and gear, Mishka walked forward to Vasili.

"Vasili. If it's alright, and you don't need me at the moment, I'd like to head out with the patrol, try and get a sense of the terrain." Vasili looked at the young man and nodded but placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You don't need my permission to do something like that Mishka. As far as I'm concerned, you are a man now and you are entitled to do what you think is right. If you feel your place right now is with the patrol, then go with them. Who knows, you might just prove lucky for them." Mishka nodded, grabbed a rifle from the pile and ran after the patrol.

Just as Vasili finished his lunch, another squad of soldiers sat down where he was and started talking. He rose, walked over to where the engineers were repairing his rifle and they handed it to him without a word but a glance that told him the work was complete. He nodded his thanks, grabbed an ammo belt and walked up the stairs to the third floor hallway that overlooked the north. He, along with three others, were assigned to this post as sharpshooters.

Gazing out of the blown out window wasn't the most exciting post he'd ever held but, compared to other situations, Vasili figured he'd much rather be bored at a time like this rather than on edge. Grunting as he pulled the old canvas tarp up around his 'nest' he'd made for cover, he settled in for what he hoped would be an uneventful six hours.

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(Five hours later...)

The artillery shell whistled loud enough to deafen anyone as it passed overhead, impacting the rails leading into the station, destroying them. Vasili kept hold of his rifle and chambered another round and sighted a Rotarian soldier trying to charge his way down the center. He didn't get far before Vasili's shot took the top half of his head off. On his left and to his right, the other marksmen were firing just as effectively if not as quickly as he was.

The attack had started just ten minutes ago with what the soldiers called 'incoming mail' from the fortress to their south. Vasili would have slapped himself for realizing that, by moving to the train station _outside_ of the city, theyhad sacrificed the cover of the structures and therefore the island fortress had a near perfect firing plot to rain hell down on their heads.

Thankfully, it seemed that Rotarians didn't understand Tellanian artillery because their shots kept missing but, for ever one they fired, they kept crawling closer and closer to the station. Any moment now, some bastard would get lucky and send a shell straight through the roof.

The sight of the bodies outside the fortress was all the incentive Vasili needed to cast aside those thoughts. He was mad.

Mishka had come running back with word that the patrol had been ambushed when he caught a round from a Rotarian sniper in the back. Alenkov had run out to help him and wound up getting shot for his trouble as well. The two of them were lying there, bleeding out and all Vasili could do was sit tight and wait for the enemy to break off their assault.

Worse was that the enemy had managed to drag a few tanks through the ruins and now they were closing on them. Thankfully, for medium tanks, the ones the Rotarians had brought up were poorly armored, allowing for quick kills by the soldiers with the working bazookas. He reloaded his weapon, aimed and fired, managing to kill two enemy soldiers with one bullet. Turning, he saw a cluster of five men trying to set up a machinegun to rake the building and force the snipers back. Vasili killed four of them before they even had the tripod deployed and the last man was ripped to shreds by one of the Tellanians own machineguns. For good measure, a soldier hurled a grenade at the gun, destroying it and rendering the position unusable.

Besides the usual grenades, Vasili found, with a mix of relief and horror, that several boxes of phosphorous grenades had been with the supplies captured from the train. Phosphorous, or Incendiary, grenades were used to deny enemy access by setting fire to areas or setting enemy soldiers on fire. The only thing more deadly to Vasili's knowledge was the infamous T Grenade the Syllian-trained Reed brothers had developed.

The 'T' stood for 'Thermite', a mixture of aluminum powder and iron oxide that, when exposed to open flames, produced a flame capable of melting or setting fire to absolutely anything. T Grenades were used for terror tactics, sabotage, and ambushes. Fewer things were more frightening than seeing someone being burned alive by flames that no amount of water, sand, or anything else could extinguish. Vasili couldn't help but wish he had at least six T Grenades to lob at the tanks and vehicles the enemy kept sending, despite their losses.

Halftracks with reinforced armor suddenly roared through the Rotarian lines, machinegun rounds and even bazooka shells bouncing off the sloped frontal armor. Soldiers deadlocked behind barriers rose up and formed ranks behind the halftracks and let them shield them as they advanced. Thankfully, the halftracks were too heavy to trigger the landmines they had placed in their way.

The enemy soldiers, not so much.

Funny how mines work. With anti-personel mines, you could drive a tank over the little bastards and not do a thing but the moment you put a foot down on it, it does one of two things: one, it instantly detonates; or two, if explodes as soon as you lift your foot off the pressure plate. Anti-armor mines are the opposite, people can walk over them but the second a tank or other vehicle rolls over them: Boom.

The first notable success was when the first sixteen soldiers who, huddled close to one another behind the armored vehicle, vanished in a ball of fire and a red haze. Vasili remembered a gruff old sergeant he had trained with who was fond of rigging 'ambushes' for the recruits he was training. The popular line when you triggered an 'ambush' was that: 'You just blew off your legs and we gotta send out a search party for your nuts'. Unsure of what just happened, the infantry continued on and stumbled right dead center of the minefield. It was only after six more groups met a similar fate that the powers that be ordered a temporary withdrawal.

The halftracks on the other hand, kept advancing.

Then suddenly, a roaring the likes of which Vasili had never heard befor esounded just over his head. He saw red tracers shoot past and riddle the lead halftrack with holes. He then realized that the crew of one of the flak guns had removed the limiter gear and had angled the gun downwards to fire at the incoming armor. The tough frontal armor was enough to stop bazooka shells but the top and side armor didn't stop shit.

Vasili managed to fire off another four rounds when suddenly he caught sight of a muzzle flash in his scope and felt a red hot pain lance through his arm. His rifle seemed to come apart in his hands, the Rotarian rifle round smashing the foregrip, shredding the magazine and trigger guard before piercing his right arm just above the elbow. The force of the impact knocked Vasili backwards and he saw someone rise and call out to him. Looking up, he saw a medic rushing to him with an apologetic look on his face and wrapped what looked to be an oil cloth around his arm.

"Master Sergeant, can you still fight?" Vasili gazed at the young marksman who had asked the question and nodded.

"Yeah but I'll need another rifle. Listen, there's an enemy sniper across the railyard hiding by that old water tower. He's likely relocated but still, check the area." The young soldier nodded and Vasili was helped down the stairs to bottom floor where the mechanics were working on several firearms. Glancing over, he saw, of all things, a complete TR-31S.

The TR-31S was the sniper varient of the TR-31 standard rifle. It was a fairly new weapon. Semi-automatic, twenty round box magazine, improved gas-recoil system, and a ten power scope. To put it bluntly, it was the one rifle that most snipers dreamed of getting their hands on. One of the mechanics saw him looking at the rifle and handed it to him.

"The man who used this gun died yesterday. He was one of those wounded at the factory. We've repaired it so it should be good for service. I think he'd be glad to know it was being put to good use." Vasili nodded his thanks before suddenly just detecting something out of place.

No more shells were falling on them.

"The artillery stopped!" At those words a radio operator with a big smile plastered on his face came running to them.

"It's happening! Our allies have just started their landing operations! Furthermore, the carriers _RNV Leviathan_, _FNV Ranger, AGN Pyrennes, AGN Bonne Richard,and ENS Genesis_ have launched several sorties against Fort Zemlya. The island fortress is burning and now we have relief from out flank. All that's left is to hold out until our allies push towards us."

The soldiers who heard this cheered loudly and even Vasili allowed a cheer until he saw medics dragging in the bodies of Alenkov and Mishka. Alenkov was dead, of that there was no doubt, but Mishka looked to still be fighting for his life. Still, judging from the wounds Vasili could see, he wouldn't last long.

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The allies have landed! The allies have landed! Man, I huess ya'll have been waiting for this part to arrive huh? Well anyway, one more chapter for the Tellanian soldiers here before I switch over to the heart of the matter: The hunt for the Silver Griffon.

Next Chapter: Forlorn Hope


	52. Forlorn Hope

Hey everyone! Well, I hope ya'll are doing all right. I've alright myself, just been working round the clock. Currently writing this in a hospital room taking care of my Mom after she had back surgery. She's going to remain in the hospital for a while and then she's coming home but she'll be in a back brace for around six weeks. No leaving the house, no stooping, no bending, nothing strenuous or overly physical.

I suppose I'll have to put my job search on an indefinate postponement. Maybe I should take up writing instead...

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYON EIN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 51: Forlorn Hope

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_Day 93_

_18 Floodrain, 1933_

_1245 hours_

_Record of Lieutenant Vasili Alexandr_

_Well, that's done it. We've had it. Rotarians launched a sneak attack on the station last night. Get several of the men including Mishka who was wounded trying to hold them off and also killed Alenkov who was shot trying to save Mishka. The kid's badly wounded but he still hangs on for dear life. Damn this war._

_Forgive the blood on the page, I've got a wound on my arm and we're fresh out of sterile bandages. Docs are boiling old grease monkey rags to try and clean them. Some soldiers are accepting them simply because they'll keep their blood on the inside. Mechanics often joke a little grease never hurt no one. Well, I'm not in the mood. If the wound annoys me, I'll tear a piece off my shirt, boil it, and bind it._

_Bombardment from the island has stopped. Aircraft flying in the sky but nowhere near us. They must think we've given up or been defeated. Commander Rasvitan offered me Alenkov's rank and position and, rather than him give it to some jackass who would see us all killed by tomorrow, I accepted, but I sure as hell didn't want it. Plenty of ways to earn a commission, I just don't like crawling over my dead friend's body to get it. He actually ripped the bars off Alenkov's coat and gave them to me._

_Rasvitan died two hours ago, stuck his head out a window to look around and a sniper put him out of __**our**__ misery._

_I'm the only symbol of authority left. I've got men half my age asking me what I want them to do. I won't tell them I have no idea because that'll kill them as quick as a bullet. There has to be a way to alert the planes and maybe any ground forces already landed that the city still stands._

_That sniper who killed the Commander, I think he's holed up in that old cathedral belltower over on the next block. Could probably use the sewers to come up underneath but between here to the sewer entrance is a few Rotarian soldiers and tanks, and between there and the church there's a few dozen more men and tanks._

_If I don't do something now, we're all as good as dead. This'll likely be my last entry, either I will be victorious, or in my grave. Either way, Fancesca, I'm sorry. I should have listened to you when you said to head east to Syllia. I'll give you my word right here and now, If I make it out of this alive, I'm __**never**__ leaving your side again._

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The bullet whizzed by close enough to stir Vasili's hair and struck the wall behind him. He adjusted the rifle in his hands and aimed where he was sure the bullet came from, saw the reflection of a scope and fired. He was rewarded by seeing an enemy sniper rise from his hiding place clutching his arm in pain along with the broken remains of his rifle. A machinegunner in the station saw him rise and turn to run and raked him with the weapon.

Vasili was close to the sewer entrance. The soldiers from the station were covering him well enough but the sheer volume of the enemy here was enough to make any sane man think twice. The soldiers with working bazookas had destroyed six tanks patrolling the area and snipers and machinegunners had been raking any enemy who showed his head.

Vasili had little doubt he would have made it to the sewer entrance sooner but he was unaccustomed to the added weight of the portable radio strapped to his back. The value of this piece of equipment meant he had to be extra careful not to get shot.

If he died, no one was coming for him, his allies would be overrun, and likely the troops just landing on the beach would pay the price for his failure.

_(No pressure, right?)_

Vasili advanced a little further along the path until he found what looked to be the sewer grate and used a nearby piece of metal to pry it off before lowering himself into the sewers. The feeling of sludge leaking into his worn boots was as unpleasant as the smell but he continued onwards, taking care of avoiding making too loud a noise as he slogged his way through the sewers. His rifle being next to useless in the confined space, he slung it over his shoulder in favor of his sidearm.

As he went further into the sewer, he stopped near a drain in the street and heard what sounded like tanks rolling by and soldiers talking loudly. Either the enemy was closer than he originally suspected, or he was deeper behind enemy lines that he'd thought. He felt his coat for the lighter on of the soldiers had pressed on him and, lighting it, went ot the wall to read the faded writing on the old bricks.

23 Mason St./ 33 Cathedral St.

"On the right path. The old cathedral is where Cathedral Street ends and splits into North and South Avenue. Six blocks to go."

Vasili pressed onward, his arm started to throb in pain but he suppressed it. He couldn't take the time to rebandage it and he didn't have any painkillers with him. He wouldn't have used them anyway because he needed to stay lucid. Painkillers would have fogged his mind and made him want to sleep.

Eventually, he reached a solid brick wall in front of him and gazed left and right and nodded at the correct signs. He felt the brocks on the wall and, to his delight, found a draft coming through.

"If this cathedral is like the one near home, there should be a reliquary kept beneath the cathedral itself." Vasili stopped himself momentarily to offer a quick prayer for forgiveness for breaking into a holy place. He then holstered his sidearm, unsheathed the hammer that he had grabbed from the mechanics workbench at the station before he left and swung at the weakened wall with all the strength he could muster.

He was rewarded by a shock as the hammer broke free from hsi grasp, went _through_ the wall, and then a crumbling noise as a large six foot by six foot section of the wall fell forwards _into_ the cathedral with a tremendous _BANG!_

He had little doubt he looked stupid, standing there with a look of 'How hard did I hit the damn wall?' plastered on his face. He brushed the old mason dust off his coat, stepped through the hole, and reached down to pick up his hammer. When he stood back up, he came face to face with a skeleton whose casket the falling wall had breached.

He stifled a yell and took an involuntary step backwards in shock and gazed around. There were caskets, tombs, and other things scattered all over the place. It was then Vasili realized he hadn't broken into a reliquary, he'd broken into a catacomb with a noise loud enough to have awakened the dead if such a thing were possible.

Apparently, his time in the sewers had accustomed him to a foul smell but he still noticed the smell of mildew and decay in the catacombs. Walking around a pillar, he found a body on the ground in what looked to have been a praying position. The corpse had a single hole to the back of the head and, to Vasili's horror, was dressed in the robes of a priest. The only things missing were the golden symbols of faith and other priestly items that priests wore when the worshiped.

_(So. Even the priests are not off limits for Rotarian soldiers. He's been dead for a week, give or take. Doubtless the soldier who executed and looted him is long gone. I don't know last rites but rest in peace, for soon the enemy will be driven out of the city and we can bury you proper.)_

He advanced further until he found a staircase going upwards with an open door at the top. His worn old boots made little to no sound as he went up each of the old stone steps. Drawing his sidearm, he eased up to the door and peeked around it and couldn't stop his jaw from dropping.

There was little boubt in his mind that once upon a time, this cathedral was probably the most beautiful building in the city. White-washed marble columns rose from the ground, once supporting the roof of the building. Likely when the sun first rose in the morning, the large stained glass window flooded the building with light.

Now, a section of the roof had collapsed into the main part of the building. Judging from the remains of the stone, it had once been a dome that once crowned the building. He noticed something around the base of the dome and was shocked to find what, to his eye, looked like gold. The dome had been dynamited on purpose so that the Rotarian looters could get to the gold that capped the dome. The explosion had also blown out the fifty or so stained glass windows in the building leaving only their frames. Several of the pillars had also been toppled and many of the once beautiful rosewood pews lay broken beneath them.

Vasili made his way around the dome and gazed up through the hole in the roof and saw that of the two towers that stood, one was broken in half and it was the other that would have made a proper sniper nest. Seeing the door that led to the tower was open, he started towards it carefully and slowly made his way to the stairs that led up into the tower.

Unlike the stairs from the catacombs below, these were made of a gold-leaf rosewood that, in the current condition of the building, were cracked in numerous places and indeed, part of the railing further up was broken. There were also holes in the stonework allowing the cold air to whistle through the tower and worse exposed that someone was climbing the tower. The tower face had the worst hole.

The entire face of the tower for about two flights of stairs was blown outwards revealing the iron and wood skeleton of the tower. All someone on the ground had to do was look up and they would have seen Vasili climbing the stairs and drop a couple of mortar shells on his head. He paused just before the large hole and gazed down as he heard the rumbling of tank treads and gazing down, saw an entire armored formation of roughly sixty tanks ranging from light to heavy roll by followed closely by armored halftracks, trucks, and cars each loaded with Rotarian soldiers and carrying what looked to be, on first glance, a _massive_ artillery piece of possibly 125mm to perhaps 155mm diameters.

To put it in perspective, Rotarian tanks mainly used 75mm or 88mm shells, which could pass through a window and blow a hole out the back of a structure and weaken the sides and front. The damage would be extensive but chances are the structure could still stand. A shell of 125mm or 155mm would hit the front of the building with the force of a wrecking ball, blow out the front, the sides and the back and would, without a doubt, bring the building down or at least make it so structurally unsafe that no one in their right mind would set foot in it.

He made it further up but stopped when he heard a creaking noise. Grimacing, Vasili clicked the safety on his sidearm off and crept up the stairs even slower. On the flight before the top, he stopped, seeing a strand of wire running from side to side, just a few millimeters over the step. It would never have been spotted by anyone who wasn't being observant. He glanced over to the left and right and spotted a satchel charge tucked under a load-bearing beam.

If he stepped on the trigger, the charge would detonate and send the tower crashing downwards with whoever was currently in it. Carefully, Vasili moved and managed to step over the charge and picked up a piece of glass and angled it to where he could glance at the plateform above him.

A rifle shot shot the glass out of his hand and made him curse as he nearly tripped the explosive as he recoiled.

"I had a feeling someone was coming into my lookout. I must say, you got pretty far for an old man Tellanian. Your approach was also impressive. I barely had a hint of you but once or twice. I was intrigued, so rather than wait for you to slip up and reveal yourself, I decided to wait for you to arrive so that I may meet my Tellanian equal face to face. You dodged my trap and that alone speaks volumes."

The voice broke into a sudden bout of coughing, drawing Vasili's attention to the planks under where he guessed the speaker was seated and was shocked to see blood slowly dripping from the gaps in the planks.

"You're wounded?"

"No. Not wounded. At least not by you. When the cathedral was destroyed, the soldiers in my group set about looting it. They sent me up here to watch and make sure no one interrupted them. Now, they are all dead. Heh, I don't suppose we would have guessed that looting a church as grand as this one was bad luck. There were fifteen of us. All of them succumbed to the war or by pure accident. I'm the last, I came up here to see if I could get another angle to attack at your position when something gave away my position and that damned anti-air gun opened fire on me."

The sound of a rifle dropping reached Vasili and he leapt up the steps and leveled his sidearm at the sniper who lay there with shrapnel wounds in his torso. Vasili was no doctor but it looked like he was bleeding to death internally. A slow and excruciating death. The sniper chuckled at him and relaxed against the banister.

"This is how it ends then, I suppose if I had any life left in me, I should try and kill you to save my comrades but... I've seen many men die in this war... Most of them less than quick and painless... Do what you came to do Tellanian... and may this war end before all nations lose more than their people..."

The sniper slumped to the floor and was still, his chest rose a few more times before it finally stopped. Vasili unfastened the radio from his back and unfolded the antenna and connected the transmitter and receiver. Once he got it set up, he spun the handle on the protable dynamo until he heard static through the earpiece and keyed the mic.

"Attention, any Tellanian or Syllian forces. This is Lieutenant Vasili Alexandr of the Tellanian 11th Army, currently in the city of Dovograd. If anyone is on this frequency, please respond."

There was still static on the line and Vasili repeated the transmission. Vasili began to fear that either his radio wasn't powerful enough or that he wasn't transmitting on the correct frequency when suddenly a burst came through that nearly deafened him. When his hearing cleared he heard someone on the other end speaking frantically.

_"This is Radioman Harold Breeze of the RNV Rampant Lion. Lieutenant, you are transmitting on a naval frequency. Please repeat your name, unit number, and location."_ Vasili breathed a sigh or relief and replied quickly.

"Lieutenant Vasili Alexandr, Federal 11th Army, Dovograd."

_"We are receiving you Lieutenant Alexandr. What's your current status?"_ Vasili gazed around the city and then keyed the radio.

"Severe. I'm alone in the south-eastern part of the city in the old cathedral. I have an clear view of most of the city but the rest of my troops are at the Dovograd Grand Rail Station near the outskirts. There are numerous Rotarian infantry, tanks, and artillery moving to positions to bombard and rush my soldier's position. We're nearly out of ammo, we have numerous wounded, no medical supplies, and no anti-tank rounds remaining. As the most senior officer still alive, I am officially requesting aerial support of any possible kind as well as naval bombardment of enemy targets if possible."

_"Request acknowledged. What's the status of the city?"_

"Dovograd's rubble. Very few buildings over six stories are still standing and of those, none are intact. The only strets and roads not chocked with rubble and debris are the roads the Rotarian forces have cleared to better maneuver around and closer to us."

_"Copy. Alright, now. I need you to tell me just how many tanks can you see from your psoition. We need an estimate of heavy or medium type tanks, artillery, and any sort of anti-air batteries."_

"Well, I just had a convoy move past me. I didn't see all of them but judging by the speed they must have had anywhere between sixty to eighty heavy and medium tanks, twice that of light tanks. Then they had eighty transport vehicles, armored halftracks, trucks, cars, vehicles of that sort, each fully loaded with between ten to fifty soldiers each, and each vehicle, even the tanks, were towing what looked to be either a 125mm or 155mm pack howitzer behind them. They also had self-propelled artillery vehicles mounting what I would guess to be 155mm guns."

There was a burst of colorful language from the radio as the report made it through.

_"We've linked communications with the RNV Leviathan. Tell us what to look for and they'll start sending up aircraft. We've also notified the ground troops. The Tellanian forces are wheeling left to make their way to you."_

"I copy. Alright, as I've said, I'm in the left tower of the large cathedral placed to the west side of the large avenue that goes almost all the way through the city. The train station where the rest of my men are is situated on a large terminus of rails. The station is also shaped like a large, fortified cross if seen from above."

_"Copy that. Okay, your location and that of your force is now marked on our map of the area. Is is safe to assume that all other places are hostile?"_

"That is affermative. There are no other allies or civilians in the city. Nothing but us and the enemy."

_"Radio report send to Tellanian flagship, FNV Tokerev. They are readying a force of battleships, battlecruisers, and cruisers to begin naval bombardment of the hostile areas. Keep your head down but let us know how close to the mark we are. All carriers are prepping sorties for aerial observation, recon, and target destruction."_

Vasili hunkered down in the tower, using his rifle to scan the avenue and the parts of the city that were visible and waited. He found himself checking his watch every five minutes until finally he heard echoes in the distance and the radio buzzed again.

_"Incoming mail, keep your head down Lieutenant. The Federation ships are taking the first punch."_

A loud whistling was the first clue that the radioman was telling the truth. Through his scope, Vasili could see Rotarian soldiers stop what they were doing, look up in curiousity and watched their expressions turn from confusion, to realization, to horror.

Shells ranging from 7 inch to 14 inch diameters began falling like a steel rain from the sky. Glowing red projectiles fell from the clouds hurtled towards the ground with an unbelievable speed. The first shells impacted burnt out buildings, shattering what few windows were left and bringing down entire walls and, in one notable instance, actually toppling a five story building which listed and fell down onto the front of the Rotarian armored column.

Men frantically ran in every direction trying to escape bith the incoming shells and the falling debris. Tank crews, unwilling to abandon their vehicles, either pressed onward, pulled back, went to one side or the other, and some even plowed _through_ buildings to escape the deadly hail. Vasili watched with a mix of amazement and shock as rubble came down and flattened several light and medium tanks and half-buried three heavy tanks. He immediately got on the radio.

"I confirm all good hits! Repeat: all hits. Thank those gunner for me, they gave the enemy one hell of a headache."

_"What do you mean?"_

"You've got them bracketted perfectly! Ha, you guys dropped a five story building right on top of that armored column I reported. Those that couldn't get out of the way fast enough were either crushed by debris or hopelessly buried. The rubble has also obstructed the North Avenue. That means the enemy forces to the north of the station are now cut off and that the reinforcements will now have to go south, loop around the river, and come up at us from the south."

_"So if the enemy means to take the station, they'll need to adopt a pincer maneuver to do so."_

"Right, but that journey south will bring them out of the city and well into range of the navy guns. There is nothing but wide open plains south of the city. No cover whatsoever."

_"Understood. We'll keep up the fire."_

"What do you need me to do? Rejoin my troops or remain here?"

_"Remain where you are. We need a lookout to make sure we aren't hitting our allies. Be aware, the Tellanian 5th Fast Assault Corps has broken from the main force and is making a beeline for Dovograd. Expect their arrival at the station by the end of the day, without obstructions or delays."_ Vasili sighed with relief and silently hoped that the troops at the station had heard that. He was shaken from his thoughts by a loud droning noise high overhead.

He risked gazing out from cover and upwards and his jaw dropped as he saw twin engine aircraft flying overhead. The emblem of the Rotarian Air Force bright against their dark paintjobs. He grabbed for the radio again.

"Heads up fleet! Twin engine Rotarian aircraft inbound! Repeat: hostile attack aircraft inbound to your position!"

_"Fleet copies. Aircraft from Tellanian, Espan, and Anoziran carriers are going up for a CAP."_ Vasili suddenly gazed at the radio, noticing something off.

"What about the Syllian carrier?"

_"They have their own seperate orders. The Syllian forces are on their own heading east for Schildhaven and for a mountain range in that area. Aircraft from the _Leviathan_ are heading that way as well. If they're lucky, they'll accomplish their objective and we'll end the war sooner."_

"What do you mean? What's going on?"

_"Attention Lieutenant Alexandr, this is Admiral Dimitri Kopev of the FNV Kalypso. The information regarding the Syllian objective is classified and, as long as they're helping us reclaim our homeland, the Federal forces will respect their need for secrecy. Understood?"_

"Understood Admiral, resuming my overwatch duties. Keep the bombardment up."

_"That we'll do. Kopev out."_

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(_RNV Leviathan_, Flight Deck)

"Lieutenant Voss, the only aircraft we have on board big enough to carry not only a pilot but also a passenger is the P-30-4N. I know you dislike twin engine aircraft that try and call themselves 'fighters' but this time we don't have a choice. You will have a five plane escort and will fly a patrol along the mountain range and look for any signs of griffons. If you see a spot, notify the ground forces and we'll head in and secure them." Voss sighed, having heard this before but then looked back at Josh.

"I still say my place is with the ground troops taking the location. There's too many things that can go wrong. _I_ know griffonspeak. _I_ know what to look for. _I _know Tivars and I know how to speak to him as an elder griffon. You don't know griffons as well as I do Captain. Say the wrong thing or say something in the wrong tone of voice and you will have an unreasonable fury of claws and feathers coming at you." Josh shook his head, having heard this for another time.

"Yes but, if you overlook the area, you will be quicker able to find the possible site of their roost. This is not for debate Lieutenant, understood?" Voss clenched his jaw but relented. He couldn't help Tivars or Werner's sister from the _Leviathan_'s brig.

"Yes, sir." Josh nodded.

"Then get in the air. The Tellanian force is busy bombarding the enemy within Dovograd so they'll have focused their attention at the imminent battle. This gives us a window we can ill afford to have close on us. Now, if the situation arises that the ground forces _cannot_ reach the roost, I authorize you to do whatever you think neccessary to ensure the protection and safety of the silver griffon and any friendies in the area." Voss nodded and closed the cockpit down on him and started the engines of his aircraft.

One way or another, he was finding that griffon. Above him, Dieter, Wolff, and the other members of his escort flew in a CAP, waiting for his takeoff. In the distance, the village of Cardis could be seen and past that Pine Mountain. He gave a glance to see Werner standing by both Josh and Anne as his engines spun up to full power.

He gave a thumbs up to the deck crew and after a moment, he was airborne. The escort closed in around him. He angled his nose in the direction of the mountain and hoped he could find what he was looking for.

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Alright everyone! The siege of Dovograd is almost over and now the allies know they have assets in the city. Vasili is calling in artillery support from the Navy, the Tellanian forces are making their way to their fellows, and now the Syllian forces, with three Rotarian defectors overhead, head towards Pine Mountain, the hopeful location of the only known silver griffon in existance.

Can they succeed?


	53. A Question of Duty

Okay, well the good news is that Mom's home. The not so good news is that she absolutely _hates_ that back brace. She has to wear it from dawn to dusk for six weeks which means she'll likely be able get around without it sometime near election day.

Well, who knows.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 52: A Question of Duty

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Below the aircraft, on the ground, shells from the naval bombardment, artillery, and mortars created holes that dotted the landscape. It made what was once a verdant green field look more like something from out of this world. A alien terrain where the soldiers used the holes for cover when they weren't moving towards enemy positions.

Even from this height, Voss could see the formations of Rotarian troops, his countrymen, arrayed against the Syllian forces marching towards them little by little. Judging from their formation, the Rotarian's had been slowly moving toward the mountain behind Cardis. There were several black dots flying this way and that as a much lower altitude, tangling with the Syllian dragons that had accompanied the troops. He knew they were dread griffons and he knew now what they were searching for.

The only known silver griffon in existance.

These rare and illusive creatures were once the rightful rulers of Rotiart back when it had been a mighty empire. With the death of Tharsis the White, it became a human-controlled nation where knowledge of the history was outlawed upon pain of death, slavery was legal, and war with other nations was constant. It was said the the ancient human ruled empire shed enough innocent blood to have drowned itself dozens of times over. Those leading the slaughters were these black and red feathered monstrocities.

Voss knew that if the dread griffons found the silver griffon first, the war would not end until Rotiart had drowned itself in blood once again, only this time, it would cease to exist, carved up into territories of the victorious nations, if not outright abandoned. What hurt worse was that he had been raised near near griffons and he _knew_ the stories but was always too afraid to repeat them.

Rotarian laws (and the dread griffons reinforcing them) was too much of a deterrant.

His twin engine aircraft soared through the skies, onward towards the place that, (he hoped) would be the nest of the griffon elder Tivars, the griffon who had spirited away the young silver griffon before the war began. A war to find the silver griffon and kill her before knowledge of her was known. A war that already had cost the lives of so many. If the knowledge of a silver griffon _did_ get out, would it make much of a difference?

Worse case scenario would be that Mechanos would demand the return of her to Rotiart and arrange a convenient 'accident' for her on the way and blame it on the Syllians, effectively extending the war and potentially creating a blood feud between the nations that could last until the next century. Best case scenario is that half the Rotarian army up and defect overnight, thus ending the war before year's end but also possibly starting a civil war. Personally, Voss, along with Dieter and Wolff, were hoping for something in between.

Giving his gauges another glance, Voss angled the plane to sweep the first likely spot on the mountain.

"I'm at the first spot. Dropping low for first sweep; south face."

Dropping in low and cutting power back on the engines, Voss scanned the side of the mountain. He made special note of the cliffs and caves along the side. After a moment he looped around and made a second pass. Still nothing. The radio crackled for a moment.

_"Voss, have you seen any sign of them?"_

"That's a negative Dieter. If anything did live in there they're long gone. I'm going to move to the next side."

_"Attention E Squadron, Dracocorps has informed us that several dread griffons have broken away from the fight and are heading for the mountain."_ Voss swore.

"Can a group intercept them?! We _can't_ allow them to get here!"

_"Brimstone's group is closing with them but the battle will be on the cliffs. I'd suggest you look quicker."_ Voss glanced around and suddenly was struck with an idea.

"Is there anyone monitoring Rotarian radio traffic?"

_"Affermative. Why? What are you thinking?"_

"The gold griffons are tangling with the Dracocorps, what if we let the cat out of the bag? The human units may or may not do anything but the Griffon Corps WILL respond to _any_ kind of alert."

_"That is __**if**__ the ground units decide to relay the information."_

"Don't worry about that, the humans assigned to the Griffon Corps are people raised near griffon colonies and grow up listening, if only in passing, to griffon tales and legends. They'll pass it along. Just make the transmission sound convincing. I'm heading to the east face of the mountain, I see a plateau on that side of the mountain that, if possible, I can land and explore the trails on foot. Also looks like an old wooden bridge on that side."

_"Well, since there's no chance to stop you from doing so, you have been given permission to land there. Just make sure you can take off again. I'm switching over to the Rotarian frequency."_

Voss angled his plane down to the plateau and switched his radio over just to listen in. What he heard was as good as anything a playwrite could have created.

_"E Squadron, come in! RNV Leviathan to E Squadron! For goodness sake, someone respond! We have reports of Rotarian dread griffons breaking away and heading for the mountain! We can't get other units there to reinforce you! Find that griffon and get her the hell out of there before those bastards swoop down on you!"_

_ "Uh... this... uh... This is E Squadron escort, w-what kind of griffon are we looking for again?"_

_ "Jenkins? That you? Figures. Remember the briefing ham head? Reports from the area pre-invasion indicate locals having reported a griffon with silver fur and feathers in the area. Based on information we intercepted, those dread griffons are __**not **__there to support the Griffon Corps, they are there to hunt down and __**kill**__ that griffon. I don't know why their orders are to do so, but Lieutenant Voss seemed damn determined to save it __**before**__ they got to it."_ Then the kicker.

_"RAWLINS! Check your damn radio! You're transmitting on the __**wrong**__ frequency!"_

The radio went silent as the conversation ended. Voss lowered his landing gear and grimaced as the plane landed roughly on the stone formation. He then killed the engines, unfastened the sidearm and carbine from the bailout compartment in the cockpit, opened the canopy, leapt out and started running for the nearest cave system. A squawk overhead got his attention and, glancing up, he saw a flash of gold dive at him.

He dove out of the way in the nick of time and, rolling into a crouched position, he brought the carbine up to the attacking griffon but stopped with his finger on the trigger.

The griffon was old, the once lusterous golden fur dull, the feathers had a similar appearance. The biggest note, was the scar that ran from the neck to just below the beak as well as a tarnished silver pendant that hung around the neck. The pendant was worn only by griffon elders, and the scar, Voss remembered, had been inflicted when a young griffon thought he knew better than the older griffon and had challenged him for the right to lead the local Griffon Corps branch. Voss switched to Griffonspeak, remembering that the griffon only spoke a smattering of human words.

"Elder Tivars! Stand down! It's me! Manfried Voss, Christof's son, from Tenret!"

Tivars jerked midair as if stunned and angled back towards him. He hovered above Voss, looking over him with his eyes before speaking, his once booming voice now muted with age.

"Manfried Voss. Huh, changed your uniform from Rotarian black and grey to Syllian blue. Before this war I would have disapproved but now I prefer the change. Means I can trust you. So, why are you here?"

"Werner told me everything. I know his sister is a La-Nee and that you're protecting her. But now the Re-Neesa are coming, and she is no longer safe here." Tivars landed and narrowed his eyes at him.

"If what you say is true, then how exactly can you safeguard her, if there in fact _is_ a silver griffon?"

"We have a carrier, the _RNV Leviathan_. Her captain is Joshua de Launces-"

"DE LAUNCES?! As in the family of dragon shapechangers?! YOU would have ME take the only glimmer of hope our nation has had in over six-thousand years into what is essentially a dragon's lair?!" Tivars was angry, of that there was no doubt but Voss raised his hands, stopping Tivars.

"I know. I know what you're thinking but the de Launces are different! They want to protect the child until Mechanos can be overthrown! There are STILL people who believe in the Tales of the La-Nee! People still hope that our nation isn't too far gone to be saved! You yourself once told me: the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Our enemy is Mechanos and his Re-Neesa. The enemy of the Syllian dragons are primarily Re-Neesa. You don't have to like it, but _please_, give them a chance!"

Tivars watched Voss as if trying to find any deceit in his words when his thoughts were interupttedby a loud screech that pierced the air. Voss looked up and paled at what he saw.

"Re-Neesa! Tivars, watch out!" Voss angled the carbine at the incoming dread griffon and fired but the bullets seemed to be doing nothing but making the large creature flinch. Suddenly, out from around the mountain, a roar echoed and Voss looked to see a large fire dragon hurl around from the south face with a wing of twelve others behind him. He angled at the dread griffon and tackled it midair, snarling indignation.

This dragon looked to be somewhat out of shape but still, the way he fought, he used his size and wieght just as effectively as he used his claws, fangs, tailblade, and firebreath.

Breaking away, he rose, folded his wings, and dove downwards, tackling the dread griffon and pressing his immense girth onto the creature, forcing it downward and crashing into the plateau, effectively snapping the griffon's neck and crushing the ribcage and creating an impressive crater in the stone. The dragon rose and glanced over to Voss and Tivars and gave a grunt.

"Name's Gojani. Dracocorps Regional Commander, Sanijo. Lieutenant Voss, I would strongly recommend you conclude whatever buisiness you have here quickly. The information leaked and now there are over three hundred dread griffons winging their way here as of now." Voss paled.

"Three _hundred_?!" Gojani nodded.

"My force and I will hang around overhead for a while longer but we barely have fifty dragons in the area, and only twelve here at this moment. I enjoy a good fight as much as I do most other things in life but I will not risk my dragon's lives needlessly."

"You won't have to dragon." Gojani, Voss, and Tivars turned to see a gold griffon with a human on it's back land lightly on the plateau. The human, dressed in the grey uniform of the Griffon Corps, leapt from his mount and hurried over the Voss and saluted sharply before turning to Tivars and kneeling (much to Gojani's surprise).

"Elder Tivars. I am Commander Johann Strauss of the Colgore branch of the Griffon Corps. We overheard an accidental broadcast on our frequency and I flew here as fast as I could. Is it _true_? _Is_ there a young La-Nee?" Voss watched in amazement as the young commander's eyes showed a begging light and his voice held a note of pleading.

Tivars looked over to the griffon the commander had ridden on and it's eyes held the same pleading light within them. Then he looked back to the commander and to Voss and Gojani and back to the commander.

Then the edges of he beak curled into a smile and he nodded, his eyes showing with a vibrant light. Commander Strauss surprised Gojani, and the dragons who were landing upon the plateau seeing a gold griffon do the same, by dropping to both knees and weeping. The griffon was likewise weeping but was evidentally fighting it and came up to nudge it's, _her_, rider.

"Come now Johann, you're the commander of the Griffon Corps. Please, show some decorum when before an elder. It's _undignified_." Strauss started chuckling and looked up to the griffon.

"I know Flora, but... I just can't help it. A _silver_ griffon. I just can't believe it."

"Believe it young knight. Now then. What is your reason for being here?" Strauss looked to Voss and Gojani.

"I have two-hundred and eighty gold griffons under my command here. I am ready to task them all with protecting the silver griffon from the dread griffons." Voss looked to him sharply.

"You realize this means you're going _against_ Mechanos' orders, right?" Strauss nodded.

"Lieutenant Voss, I always suspected that you and Major Muntz defected for some reason. I only regret that we picked up on it too late. Besides, this is not a question of duty. It is a matter of honor. My soul is clean in this decision." He turned to Tivars.

"Now, though, now the Griffon Corps has reason to hope. We have a way to restore our beloved homeland. Lieutenant Voss, we will take care of the dread griffons, you get Elder Tivars and the young silver griffon to safety." Tivars shook his head.

"No, I refuse to be carted to safety like an old man. I'm _still_ strong enough to help in the fight." Voss looked to him.

"Alright then, where's the silver griffon? I'll take her to the _Leviathan_." Gojani nodded.

"Alright, and once we're through roasting these dread griffons, we'll be returning to the dragon carrier. Along with the Griffon Corps, if they wish to." Strauss nodded and then remounted Flora and lifted of with a battle cry. Tivars turned to Voss and motioned for him to follow.

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Tivars led Voss to a cave close to the plateau yet hidden in shadows from large monolithic rocks. He entered slowly after Tivars and heard him muttering softly in griffonspeak to something still obscured by shadows. Venturing closer, Voss saw a small makeshift bed of animal furs, scavenged cloth, and other soft materials. As Voss came up beside Tivars, the bundle shifted and let out a 'coo' that sounded more from a dove than a griffon child.

Chuckling, Tivars clutched the edge with his beak and pulled back softly revealing a young griffon, almost a year and a half, with a mane of silver-tinged white fur, silver fur along the body, and white-tinged silver feathers. The youngling looked up to Voss with wary eyes and looked at Tivars and cooed again to which Tivars made a sound deep in his throat that sounded like a cross between a purr and a growl and glanced at Voss and back again.

One more 'coo' and another purr for reassurance was all the little one needed to crawl completely out of the bedding and come up to Voss who scooped her up into his arms. She was roughly the same size as an adult basset yet she was far lighter. She also showed evidence of having to eat a fugative's diet. She was thin, her fur was somewhat matted, her feathers in dire need of trimming, but she smelled clean.

Embracing her tightly, yet gently, Voss nodded to Tivars who guided him out of the cave. He couldn't help but smile as the little one burrowed deep into his embrace.

Outside, Voss was greeted with a shock. Gold griffons and dragons were a blur of a whirlwind fighting the larger and fiercer dread griffons. The soldiers on griffonback used their carbines to shoot at the enemy griffons and also used special 'bolo' ropes to try and fowl their wings and occasionally hurling an unbound barbed harpoon used for hunting at them. There was an undignified squawk from a dread griffon as Gojani managed to set his tail on fire and he plummeted downwards into the large lake at the base of the mountain. Voss shared a glance with Tivars and broke into a flat-out run for his plane as Tivars took off and flew a CAP around him.

Tivars was joined by Gojani and Flora who, upon seeing the silver griffon clutched tightly in Voss' arms, gave out a trill that got the other gold griffon's attention and, once they were sure the rumor was true, redoubled their efforts against the dread griffons. The dread griffons, also hearing the trill and glancing down, redoubled _their_ efforts to break through the traitorous gold griffons and dragons to get at either Voss or his means of escape.

With his hands full of struggling silver griffon, Voss was unable to use his sidearm or his carbine so he presented a very vulnerable target to the dread griffons. One young dread griffon actually dove straight at him trying to perform what was known as a 'flying guillotine'. The maneuver was ended however as Gojani sprang forward quicker than his size suggested was possible, caught the dread griffon's head and neck in his powerful jaws and shook like a terrier with a rat, breaking it's neck.

He then made a retching sound and spat out the griffon and looked up to a certain light dragon.

"Illuma, you are absolutely _wrong_ about these dread griffons! They taste absolutely _nothing_ like chicken!"

Voss didn't hear the retort but could catch something along the lines of 'you gotta roast them first'. The gold griffons, ordinarily, would have become foul-tempered at such a statement, but now that the dread griffons were their foes, they shared a laugh at the dread griffon's expense, even going so far as to tap into that playful nature of their's and started taunting them with insults such as 'chicken legs', 'seed brain', but finally settle on a very... strong insult in griffon speak that did not disapoint.

Under the cover of insults, three gold griffons, and four dragons, Voss made it to the plane and opened the second canopy and fastened the silver griffon in, telling her in griffonspeak to stay still and don't touch anything. He then closed that canopy, climbed into the pilot's seat and started the engines and the radio.

"Attention, _RNV Leviathan_, this is Voss. I have the package and am returning to base. Requesting escort back."

_"Voss, this is Dieter, we can't get to you! We have encountered a flight from the 312 Squadron and are unable to break away. Get in the air and make a bee-line for the carrier."_

Voss didn't hesitate. He pushed the throttle to full power and started off along the plateau. Dread griffons, seeing him move, dove through their opponents, insults forgotten and ignored, and tried to get at his plane to rip it apart or knock him off the edge of the plateau. Thankfully, the griffons and dragons who had protected Voss while he was running now protected him while he was taking off.

Tivars tackled one and knocked it off course so that it crashed into one of those large rocks. Gojani grabbed two, one in each foreclaw, and slammed them into the cliff face and unleashed his firebreath at close range. Flora scrabbled with one long enough that when the dread griffon went to shriek, Strauss tossed a grenade down into it's mouth and disengaged before the blast.

Clear for the moment, Voss pressed hard on the rudder pedals and angled the plane so that the plateau was like a runway. He flipped the switches engaging the superchargers to the engines and felt himself get pulled back in his seat as the plane rumbled down the improvised runway. The plane hit the edge of the plateau, dipped as it went of the edge for a moment but then righted itself and started to fly.

"This is Voss, I am airborne. Turning to one-seven-five. I am returning alone." There was a burst of static.

_"Oh no Lieutenant Voss, you're not returning alone. You're not returning PERIOD. By order of Emperor Mechanos, you are to be executed immediately for treason, sedition, and a few other things that I'm sure we'll be able to make stick. After all, you won't be around to defend yourself."_ Voss recognized the voice and paled, keying the radio.

"Dieter, this is Voss, I've got an element of the 666th coming at me. It's Marks."

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To Be Continued...


	54. The Prodigal Son

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 53: The Prodigal Son

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Project Absolution.

Marks had been aware of it's existance ever since Dieter's defection. He had been on the short list of pilots skilled enough to handle the new aircraft and was naturally promoted to Colonel once he was selected. Combining jet engines with a new 'turboprop' design in a push/pull configuration as well as a composite alloy body and all cannon armament, what the aircraft lacked in looks, it made up for in potential. Ever since the loss of Horos and now the loss of his entire 'B' Squadron over near Launces, Marks had become increasingly annoyed with being held back.

The fact of the matter was Mechanos was now addressing a problem. The all wooden construction of the jets was costing more lives than most air units were willing to spend. Not knowing how the Syllians had modified the design was another problem. An all metal prototype had been made but was so heavy it wouldn't take off and didn't maneuver correctly. This in turn led to the push for a new type of jet fighter.

This new interceptor, classified as the 'R-Type', was still in testing and likely wouldn't be ready for another year or so. In the meantime, there was plenty of opportunity to test what Mechanos had called a 'hybrid-propulsion design'. The result was the completed X66 'Absolution'. He was currently flying the first of three prototypes. His new XO, the newly promoted Major Kiln flew the second prototype and Kiln's wingman flew the third and last.

Marks had, technically, been on a shakedown when the radio came alive with chatter that Syllian forces were advancing for Pine Mountain in pursuit, of all things, a _silver_ griffon. Nevertheless, not a moment later, Mechanos had personally contacted Marks on a private frequency and gave orders to kill Voss _and_ the silver griffon if indeed there was one. Flying near the Dovograd battle in which the remnants of the Rotarian 21st Mobile Armored Infantry was (just barely) holding off the combined might of Tellanian, Espan, and Anoziran troops, he switched his radio over to the Syllian frequency and listened.

_"This is Voss, I am airborne. Turning to one-seven-five. I am returning alone."_

Without missing a beat, Marks keyed his own radio.

"Oh no Lieutenant Voss, you're not returning alone. You're not returning PERIOD. By order of Emperor Mechanos, you are to be executed immediately for treason, sedition, and a few other things that I'm sure we'll be able to make stick. After all, you won't be around to defend yourself."

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Sirens blared aboard the _Leviathan_ as all remaining pilots scrambled for their planes. Marks' transmission, intended as a threat to unnerve Voss, had galvanized the Syllian fleet into action. The decks of the carrier were lined with aircraft hurrying into the air to take the place of the CAP that had been redirected to help Voss at all costs. Yet, even as Josh watched the departing aircraft, he knew they would likely not reach Voss in time. They'd need a wing and a prayer to help him.

Josh looked to Anne and then started for the radio room when the radar operator raised his hand.

"Captain! I've detected several large signatures on scope! The majority of them are to the west of us but the largest is to the south of us!" Josh paled and turned to Anne.

"The Rotarian fleet? How the hell'd they regroup so quickly?" As Anne gave Josh a confused glance, the bridge phone rang. Josh, out of habit, answered it and was nearly deafened by the radioman's yelling.

_"They're here! They're here!"_

"Rawlins! Calm down, now. Who's here? The Rotarians?"

_"Negative sir! Short comms burst from the fleet __**south**__ of us. It's the Tullinar Navy's 2nd, 3rd, and 4th Carrier Fleets. They're coming to reinforce us and heard Lieutenant Voss' transmission and are scrambling their aircraft."_ Josh sighed.

"Without jets there's no way they can reach him in time-"

_"Yes, sir they can! You didn't let me finish. The ENTIRE Carrier force from Tullinar is made up of jets!"_

Josh was sure his jaw had dropped but he paid no attention.

"Rawlins, get me in contact with the Tullinar fleet."

_"Already done sir. In fact, the leader fo the wave going to assist Voss asked to be patched into you."_

"Put him on the squawker."

The overhead speaker came on with some static and at first nothing. Then, just as Josh prepared to ask if anyone was listening, it came on.

_"Hello boys and girls! I'm back!" _Josh immediately recognized the voice and smiled from ear to ear and turned to Anne.

"Radio Voss, tell him he's got permission to do whatever he can to stay ahead of Marks. Tell him that help's on the way."

As he said this, the first of many Tullinar jets flew past the _Leviathan_. However, there was one difference with this one. Instead of being painted in Tullinar light blue, white, and beige; this jet was painted in Syllian blue with silver highlights, a shield with two hammers on the fuselage, and a large number '1' in stark white near the nose.

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His left shoulder still twinged from where the harness strap had dislocated it during the bailout but other than that, Reyson Havvers had never felt better. Here he was, flying to the aid of a comrade under attack, in, of all things, a brand new Brackner J-34 Jet/Interceptor repainted in Syllian colors. It had been explained to him that, in return for access to jet designs and materials available only in Syllia, James de Launces would receive a fully functioning aircraft to study once the production was stable.

The Tullinar Union had performed a miracle, getting bombed out factories working again and producing the new jets at a staggering 300 a day. The design was simple, clean, efficient, and the final product was probably the sturdiest aircraft Reyson had ever flown in.

The key to the endurance was an all-steel body. The aircraft weight was handled by special alloys in the engines which made them sturdier as well as lighter. Then there was the armament. The primary weapons were 6 30mm cannons in the wings and a single, massive, 50mm autocannon in the nose. This feature in turn gave the aircraft the nickname 'needlenose' because the protruding gun barrel looked like a giant hypodermic needle.

Reyson had seen this, and heard the nickname, joked: 'That's ONE needle that, if I saw my doctor with, I'd run the opposite direction.'

The swept back wings, large rudder, and flaps gave the bulky bruiser a ballerina's balance. The jet could climb, dive, yaw, roll, and do just about anything else at just the slightest touch of the stick. It was the first time Reyson ever thought that James had been outmatched in aircraft design.

The top speed of 596 mph wasn't too shabby either. If there was a downside to the aircraft, it was that the entire area beneath him was the armored 'spiral' magazine for the 50mm and that the entire area behind the fuselage behind the cockpit was the fuel tank. The tank was twice as large as a standard tank thanks to the amount of fuel jet engines consumed. It took a tank that size to be able to stay in action as long as a propellor plane with the smaller tanks. This in turn, made the jet tail-heavy and tended to lighten as the tank emptied.

Reyson gave his gauges and instruments one more check before engaging the afterburners, the town of Cardis all but a blur underneath him.

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The forest south of Pine Mountain were close enough that Voss could smell the evergreens as he flew over them. The red light next to the altimeter was flashing red, signifying that he was dangerously low. The engines were running hot from the superchargers, nearly red lining. The speedometer needle was pointing straight down meaning that Voss was going faster than the 410mph the gauge maxed out at. His hands were steady, keeping the plane in level flight, all the while glancing around for Marks and his squadron.

The amount of static in the message meant that he was still (hopefully) a fair distance away. He vaguely heard that help was on the way but his adrenaline was pumping. It was a squawk from the back seat that made him respond by jerking the stick hard left, narrowly avoiding the burst of cannonfire that shredded the treetops below.

Voss glanced behind and saw an aircraft that made him pause.

It was ugly looking. A double, counter-rotating propellor in the front, and oblong fuselage with a twin boom tail that ended with two large rudders and a massive center flap. Each wing root held a jet engine and behind the fuselage was another counter-rotating prop. A blister on top housed four cannons, the wings held two cannons each and a large cannon protruded from the propellor hub in front.

There was little doubt that the craft was Rotarian, given the emblems and paintjob. The ID though: MAG-1-66X, was new to him. As he evaded another burst, the radio crackled and came to like with a bark of laughter.

_"Run all you like Voss! Against this new fighter you are as chaff to the wind! Make it easier on yourself and just... stay... STILL!"_ Voss muttered an apology to the little griffon behind him and kicked his flying up a notch. He pushed the engines, heedless of the alarms, and started rolling, jinking, and dodging left and right, up and down. The griffon in the back squealed as Voss evaded burst after burst from Mark's jet, all the while listening as Marks grew more and more irate.

_"Voss! Damn you hold STILL! I need to kill you."_

"Not bloody likely. Better than YOU have tried Marks!"

_"Well then, things change. I highly doubt that your plane will be as maneuverable as it is if you're down an engine. Speaking of which, I'd suggest you pull power before you lose BOTH of them. I can't claim the kill if you fall out of the sky on your own volition, or, in this case, idiocy."_

Voss checked his gauges and, sure enough, the right engine was in the red and the heat from the friction was already creating smoke from the engine. Voss hurriedly removed the union bar from the twin throttles and pulled the throttle for the right engine back to half power and the left to three-quarter power.

Just as Marks came in, guns blazing. The wing cannons were the only ones that scored hits, blowing holes through the right wing. Voss swore as, almost immediately, the hydraulics in the right wing dropped to zero and he could see a thick red liquid oozing from the holes in the wing. The right engine started spluttering, all gauges for the right side of the aircraft dropped the zero and the engine siezed and ground to a halt.

Red lights came on as Voss started fighting to keep the plane in the air, all the while setting the radio to open mike.

"Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is Lieutenant Voss, I have been hit! No damage to the cockpit but the right engine is down and I'm losing hydraulics. I need immediate assistance!" Laughter came through the radio.

_"Nice try Voss, but you're still too far away from any Syllian forces. No one can come to your aid-"_

Marks was interrupted by cannon rounds flying past his plane, damaging the jet engine on the right.

_"What the hell?!"_

_"Attention, Lieutenant Voss, this is Captain Hans Kronan of the Rotarian 11th Air Group. You are free and clear to return to the carrier. Repeat: Return to base, we'll hold Marks and his group off!"_ Voss gaped in surprise as twelve Rotarian F12m 'Night Owl' fighters dove from the sky and opened fire on the JFI-1s that, apparently, had been in a holding formation overhead. Right behind those fighters was Dieter, Wolff, and the rest of the escort that had been with him.

He heard Marks swear explosively as he came on the radio.

_"Captain Kronan! You are effectively ending your career!"_ There was a bitter laugh on the other end.

_"Mechanos all but discharged me after the _Gigantic_ was sunk. It opened my eyes to what my mentor was telling me that day. Rotiart is rotten, inside and out. The only way to change it, the only hope for my nation, is to unravel every plan, every plot, every single one of his machinations and burn them to the ground. The die is cast, my fate is sealed. I will die watching Rotiart's final days, or I will live and watch it rise from the ashes a nation reborn, redeemed. People like you, Marks, dogs who have sold their honor and their souls for Mechanos' praises. You are the real traitors. We few. __**We LOYAL Few.**__ We are the __**real**__ patriots."_ There was silence for a moment.

_"Then you will die. Like all others who have stood in Emperor Mechanos' way. Loyalty to the state, loyalty to the Emperor. They are one and the same! The Emperor is the state and the state is the Emperor!"_ Voss grimaced.

"You delusional fool. You stand there smiling as Mechanos fiddles while the entire nation burns around you. You are no soldier of Rotiart, you are, as Kronan said, just one of Mechanos' dogs." Marks' reply was quick and, much to Voss surprise, high pitched, almost as if someone had kicked him in the fork of the legs.

_"DAMN YOU VOSS! I- I am no traitor like you! I am a Rotarian soldier, born and bred! I don't give a damn what you say, Mechanos' orders are for you and that damn silver griffon you have with you to die TODAY! And so help me, __**I**__ shall be the one who throws you through the gates of Hell __**myself**__-"_

As Marks broke through the cloud of fighters, flak suddenly exploded around him, damaging the other jet engine and then another burst of static.

_"This is Lieutenant-Colonel Farkis of the Rotarian 3rd Elite AAA. We are __**not **__going to allow you anywhere __**near**__ that plane!"_

_ "Colonel Jasfin here, 6th Corps, I've just knocked out the brigade commander. We are ceasing hostilities with Syllian forces. All Rotarian units, stand down."_

Voss heard Marks splutter indignantly as if he was searching for something to say. The radio came on again.

_"Attention Lieutenant Voss, this is Commander Reyson Havvers. We are inbound to escort you back to the carrier. Keep your course and speed and we'll guide you home."_ Voss spluttered.

"Havvers?! You're _alive?!_"

_"Ha! Yeah, I guess you could say the rumors of my death have been... 'slightly' exaggerated. Had a dislocated shoulder, hypothermia, and a piece of flak in my hip but I survived. Hell, like the old saying goes: what don't kill you makes you stronger."_

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Marks was stunned.

Here he was, doing his duty, and now suddenly Rotarian units all over were disobeying their standing orders, surrendering, or ceasing conflict alltogether. He gazed about on his left and right and saw his fighters and those still loyal to Mechanos tangled with the enemy and the traitors. Now he had another enemy wing closing in. He knew his orders. Yet, he reasoned, that there would be other, less dangerous opportunities to accomplish his mission.

"All fighters loyal to Emperor Mechanos... disengage and retreat."

_"The hell you say sir?!"_

"You heard me Kiln. Do what you do best, retreat with your tail between your legs! There'll be other chances to accomplish our mission."

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Voss watched as Marks and his loyal pilots turned tail and began to withdraw while Dieter, Wolff, Kronan, and now Reyson, formed an honor guard around his plane and, along with the near eighty aircraft from Syllia, Tullinar, and Rotiart they flew in a perfect formation back over Cardis towards the carrier.

He didn 't voice it over the radio but he felt something different. All along the ground, Rotarian soldiers were... well, they _weren't _surrendering but they had stopped fighting. All eyes gazing upwards at _his_ plane.

And the little silver griffon in the back seat who, now without any threat, was gazing around at the nearby planes and cooing softly. Unbidden, he felt tears in his eyes and felt as if he, single-handedly, had just won the war.

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Alright everyone, the griffon is saved and is now on the way to the _Leviathan_. Is the danger over? Maybe, maybe not.

Next Chapter: An Aura of Light


	55. An Aura of Light

Well, here we are in October. To be honest, I'm finding it a little hard to believe that the year has flown by so quickly. So many things have happened so far and yet we still have so far to go before the year ends.

Now then, onto the story.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 54: An Aura of Light

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For Coralis, nothing in life could be better. The waters were warm, despite their proximity to Tellanos, a nation whose northern half suffered from extreme snowstorms this time of the year. His group was currently swimming about, using their natural sonar and bioluminescence to communicate and check the waters around the Allied fleet. Unlike the other dragons of the Dracocorps, sea dragons were able to hunt while on patrol.

He had caught himself a couple of large hundred pound tuna and an even larger shark. He was thoroughly sated and he took the time to allow the current to move him through the water. Occasionally, he caught a glimpse of another of his group somewhere in the distance.

Sea dragons, unlike their land brethren, had a unique series of glowing stripes along their bodies, similar to other creatures of the deep. Just by glancing at a set of stripes, Coralis could tell which dragon in his group was where. Far to his left, a series of eight broken stripes told him that Tidus, the youngest of his group, had strayed from his assigned area to pursue something the young one thought 'interesting'.

Coralis sent out a sonar pulse that returned and, to his experience, the wave told him that a school of fish, likely Tellanian red-belly trout, was nearby. A pulse from another dragon reached him and he heard an echo sounding like whales swimming at deeper levels. He made a note that once the patrol was over, if none of the young ones had caught much to eat, or if their airborne brethren were particularly famished after returning from battle, to swim to this deeper water with two of the veteran swimmers, likely Angelus and Pearali, and catch one of these great creatures.

Since the practice of whaling was outlawed over one hundred years ago, the numbers of these giants had been steadily on the rise. As a law of the sea, if a sea dragon decided to take a whale for prey, they were to harvest only one whale from the group, or pod, and that nothing from the body was to go to waste.

In fact, one of the terms for sea dragons allying with humans and their land-dwelling counterparts was in fact a complete stop to whaling. Whale meat, and for a matter of fact, the blubber, was important for younger sea dragons. The meat was packed with nutrition and the blubber helped them bolster their own to better handle the cold at deeper depths.

It was why their species of dragon nested, hatched, and spent the first twenty years of their lives in warm tropical waters.

This period of time was just long enough to put on enough insulating blubber to keep their own bodies warm while they explored the depths in search of prey or, if the humans contracted them to do so, sunken ships.

During the Imperial Age, some few hundred years ago by human time, a massive armada sank in the middle of the ocean in a week-long hurricane. Twenty ships, all carrying gold, silver, jewels, and other luxuries and trade goods were lost. It wasn't until the famous (to both humans and sea dragons) privateer Captain Geoffrey de Launces, of the warship _Dauntless_, first made contracts with them that they took a keen interest in salvaging human wrecks.

To them, it was a fair trade. Sea dragons absolutely adored things that shimmered and sparkled in the sea. In return for gold, silver, and other metals such as bronze, iron, steel, and brass, which would tarnish underwater, the sea dragons were allowed to keep the gemstones and the wrecks of wooden vessels were remade into artificial reefs, hunting grounds for young dragons to practice, and a myriad of other purposes.

It was the sea dragons who, along with Geoffrey de Launces, found the sunken treasure armada off the coast of a small island and, over the course of several months, raised, salvaged and transported the majority of the valuables. Coralis, was in fact, a descendant of one of those dragons.

Around his neck, he had a special collar that, within, was set three magnificent blue diamonds. It had been a gift from Geoffrey de Launces to his grandmother for thanks in not only salvaging the largest of the armada wrecks, but also for saving the _Dauntless _when they had suddenly come under fire from Callinar pirates. According to the tale, she had used her water element to create a whirlpool under each of the pirate ships, sinking each in a spectacular fashion.

He'd had tried to have the collar appraised by a human before but the man had simply gaped at the collar and never gave him a real estimate.

The feeling of satisfaction after an... 'overly' successful hunt, coupled with the warm waters of the tide, the gentle ebb and flow of the waves did well to make him entertain the thought of taking a slight doze. His eyes had just slid shut when a frantic sonar burst from Tidus jarred him awake.

Like human code, sea dragons used sonar pulses to communicate from long range and flashed their stripes for close range. The urgency of the pulse was clear. Coralis sent out his own pulse and felt the reverb from others doing the same. He detected Tidus, going deep and swimming fast. He also felt the sea move similar to when humans drop depth charges. Moments after he fired the pulse, it returned, broken in several places.

His stripes lit up with alarm and he fired off a burst of sonar telling the others to return to the dragon carrier.

Tidus had chased his lunch right into an enemy fleet of thirty or more vessels; and of those vessels, six were larger than any other ship Coralis had ever sensed.

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(On board _RNV Leviathan_)

If the spectacle hadn't been so rare, Galere, the youngest dragon with Gojani's group, would have been offended that for the first time since she hatched, no one was admiring her. Gojani had told her that her vanity was a weakness but to be honest she preferred to be visible. She liked having both human and dragon males nearly fall over themselves whenever she was near. It was almost as if the light from the sun reflected from her red and orange scales somehow hypnotized them. Most interesting to her were how the sea dragons absolutely gawked at her whenever they were near. The only one close to her age, Tidus, had been particularly enamored.

A few other dragons had been looking forward to seeing how their enemies, the Rotarian human soldiers, pilots, and the Griffon Corps behaved and reacted while they were on a _Syllian_ vessel. More than one had actually _wanted_ a fight to break out. However, the humans were too enamored with the young silver griffon baby before them to cause trouble and the few scuffles that _did_ break out were quickly stopped by the griffons themselves. The participants then thoroughly chastised to the extent that even the dragons felt sympathy for the brawlers.

Upon his landing, Voss was greeted by both the ship doctor as well as the Dracocorps physician who, despite a lack of knowledge in the area, checked the young griffon for injuries. Voss was wisked away below decks to be checked as well as cleaned up. Later, when a griffon actually carrying a Griffon Corps physician arrived, the two set aside that they were former enemies and set about doing a complete physical upon the little one.

With the exception of her haggard appearance (which many griffons disapproved of) she was in perfect, or near perfect, health. Once the physicians were clear, a female griffon walked up and started to actually groom the young one much like a mother would brush a daughter's hair. A few times she used her beak to snip out a piece of matted fur and used her foreclaws with amazing dexterity and care to brush through the little one's mane and see that her fur was finally proper. Then she had set about on the feathers.

Once she was done, she had fallen back with her group and admired the youngling from afar, occasionally murmuring something to another.

A proper bath would have made her a proper showing but, as she was, preened, groomed, and cooing softly at every new thing she was seeing on the flight deck, it was clear to the Dracocorps that the Griffon Corps wasn't going to perform any hostile action. In fact, upon watching the little one for a while, many of the griffons and their human riders eventually broke down and began sobbing quietly. Rather than chastise their comrades, the Rotarian pilots, respectfully, averted their eyes.

Once Voss reemerged, dressed in his casual uniform and not a flight suit, he was warmly congradulated by his Rotarian comrades. Even Dieter and Wolff who, days before, had been the worst traitors in the world, were now being cheered for what they had done. The sight of young Werner, also appearing on deck, and running to his long lost little sister was enough to make even the stone-faced earth dragon Terros crack a smile and a little 'aww'.

Elder Tivars was among those stoic enough to speak with Voss and the ranking griffon and human members of the Griffon Corps. The discussion was obviously an important one. Voss was the first to speak.

"The little one needs a name." A male griffon turned, astonished to Tivars.

"A _**name**_?! Elder, with all due respect, what in the Abyss have you been calling her all this time? Youngling? Little One? She is a _**silver**_ griffon! Her parents should have named her the moment she was hatched." Tivars sighed as the other griffons answered in affermative to the complaint.

"Aye, but the dread griffons saw to that before they had time to announce it to the colony. She was barely out of the egg before that bumbling Kavel, may his feathers turn to stone and his fur fall out, discovered her and nearly all but kissed that dread griffon female's tail end when he relayed what he had seen. There was no time to plan a naming ceremony."

The female griffon who had groomed and preened the little griffon, cast a kind eye towards Werner and muttered something in griffonspeak to him. To her astonishment, Werner nodded and said something back to her.

"I believe we have an answer. Werner's parents told him what they were naming his sister: Ayura." If there had been any other way to get every single griffon's attention, it would not have had the impact this statement had. Every griffon, and a few of their riders, went completely wide-eyed and still as stone. Tivars looked to Werner and then to the others and spoke in griffonspeak. Voss translated for those humans interested who did not speak the language.

"Ayura is griffonspeak for 'Aura'. It... It was the name of the Queen Mother, one of the brightest, noblest, and wisest of all silver griffons to ever take the Rotarian throne. To have a little one named after her... It is not only a high honor, but it is also a blessing." A Griffon Corps soldier nodded at that when he heard Voss.

"Indeed. However, now we have another problem. We have the silver griffon, essentially the heir to the throne. Yet, there _has _to be a coronation. Heirs were coronated upon their hatching and here we are without any sort of scripts or knowledge about such things. We can forgo the royal treasures since they have been lost since the fall of the empire but we absolutely _must_ have a Rotarian high priest." The griffons all looked downcast until they heard someone clear their throat.

Every head turned and almost every jaw dropped. There, on the flight deck, stood Wolff, flightsuit gone, in its place was a cream-colored priest's robe, a red sash, and a copy of the sacred texts. Voss looked to his friend in confusion.

"Wolff, I thought you were no longer-" Wollf silenced him by raising his empty hand.

"That I was no longer part of the church? Well, yes and no. Yes, I have not attended the proper rites since Mechanos took power and drafted me into the military. No because, unlike others, I prefer to believe that everything I do has a purpose. Before the draft, I had finished my trials and my seclusion rites. I am now, and have always been, a fully ordained priest." He looked to Dieter and shrugged.

"I just haven't had reason to drag these old things out of my suitcase for a long time."

Almost immediately every man and woman to had said a profanity in his presence was silently muttering an embarrassed prayer of forgiveness. Even the griffons and dragons were taken aback. Wolff glanced at the griffons.

"Now, to be clear, the ancient rites say that _any_ priest may perform the coronation ritual. A high priest just makes the event a little... flashier. Is this acceptable?"

Dumbfounded, the griffons, comically, nodded in unison as did their knights. Wolff turned to Josh.

"As ritual dictates, for a coronation, witnesses must be present. Captain, as you are also Syllian royalty, you count as a witness. We also need witnesses from Praetoria, Espan, Anozira, and Tullinar, if possible. The reason is that Rotiart is now divided. There are those who will remain loyal to Mechanos and those who will, once they hear of it, pledge their loyalty to our cause." He gazed around the deck, noting differences between Syllian and Rotarian uniforms.

"Our allies need to know that Rotiart no longer is a solid foe. We have gone from being three defectors to almost an entire brigade, counting the pilots, griffons, soldiers, and the army still ashore." Anne looked to him curiously.

"I also happen to know that someone on board has a camera. You know, one of those large cinema types? If it's not objectionable, I'd like to get him on deck to record the event." Wolff saw the griffons about to protest when he raised a hand to silence them.

"The recording of a coronation, generally, is not allowed. Yet, in a time when our homeland needs to know the truth, a recording shall prove extremely valuable. Those loyal few here are just the ones who overheard our exchanges on the radio since, apparently, we somehow crossed the frequencies, and heard we had found a silver griffon. There will be those who want to believe but they are still in range of Mechanos' propaganda machine." Josh snapped his fingers in realization.

"If we record this event, send it back to Syllia and make copies of it, and then distribute them all over Rotiart via air drop or Resistance, we can surely bring about a swift end to the war. There's only one problem. The proper equipment to copy this type of film properly without cutting important things out is in Launces, which, may I remind you, is still occupied." Wolff nodded solumnly.

"As the high priest where I was taught used to say: 'Never take more than one step at a time'. Let us film the event here, then, once we are secure in our lines, we can set about trying to free Launces. In the meantime, word of mouth and witness are our best tools. Soldiers on Rotarian broadcast channels can openly broadcast the coronation to anyone with a radio. Mechanos can do a lot of things but he surely cannot confiscate _**EVERY **_single radio in the nation." As the griffons nodded at the plan, the discussion was shattered by an alarm from the dragon carrier nearby and a series of lights from the bridge. Josh immediately became grim.

"Sea dragon coming aboard! Clear a spot!" No sooner had he said this than a long serpentine shape slid gracefully from the water. One of the dragons on deck gripped the sea dragon's foreclaws with his own and started pulling him up onto the deck. His expression was grave as Josh approached, recognizing him.

"Coralis, what happened?"

"While on patrol, one of the younger members of my group almost surfaced in the middle of a Rotarian fleet. It consists of no less than thirty ships and has six ships the size of which even _I've_ never seen before." Kronan immedately approached, his face grim.

"Was he able to get a look at it?" Coralis, after recovering from the shock of seeing a Rotarian pilot, nodded.

"Aye, he said it was roughly the length of the _Leviathan_ here. Probably about twice as wide, and looked to be armed with cannons that could blow a battlecruiser to kingdom come with a single broadside." Josh turned to Kronan.

"You know this vessel?" Kronan nodded.

"The _RPS Titan _and her five sister ships are part of a new battleship Mechanos originally designed for the Callinar Navy but cancelled the order when they surrendered. She's a Titan I-class battleship using the latest techniques in armaments, armor, propulsion, maneuverability, and many other factors. Mechanos bragged that it would take three of your William Greagor-class battleships three days of non-stop bombardment to sink even _one_ of the Titans." He sighed.

"Plus, Dieter wouldn't have known this but he's also got backups for these vessels. The Titan II and Titan III-class superbattleships. These vessels have the same dimensions as the Titan I but are seriously overhauled. For example, it would take a cannon shell of roughly thirty inch diameter to even _dent_ the armor of the Titan 3 and that's at nearly _point bank_ range." Josh frowned.

"What about deck armor?" Kronan shook his head.

"They are bristling with enough anti-air weapons to equip six brigades. It's a gross overabundance but after losing not only the _Whirlwind_ but also the _Neu Horizont_ and the _Gigantic_, Mechanos isn't taking any chances. We'd basically need either a V1 or V2 rocket or a _very_ powerful bomb..." Kronan suddenly looked up with shock.

"Now why didn't _I_ think of it sooner?! My groups aircraft are equipped with special munitions. We were experimenting with a 'remote-guided bomb' when we broke loose to assist Voss." Josh looked confused.

"A remote guided bomb? How the hell does _THAT_ work?" Kronan pointed to his plane.

"The F12m is equipped with short range radar capabilities for a night fighter, we also have a second seat for the operator. Now, that second man has a device that, upon arming and releasing of the weapon, he glides it down into the enemy ship and it blows up like a regular bomb... although, these _are_ equipped with warheads capable of shredding a battleship. I believe it's a two-thousand pound payload charge." Josh nodded but then thought of something.

"What's the catch to them?" Kronan nodded, acknowledging his foresight.

"The trick is that the plane deploying the weapon _MUST_ remain nearby otherwise the bomb will lose contact and simply drop. This in turn makes the plane rather vulnerable to attack. Likely, Mechanos has ordered two or three carriers to join the fleet as well. He is a man who takes risks but even he will not risk six battleships without proper air cover. We must also be ready as before we took off for our practice runs, the base commander was bragging that we may not even be needed as Mechanos was ordering the _Olympia_ into the area. She's the _Gigantic's_ sister ship." Josh paled.

"Is there a chance of getting them to surrender?" Kronan shook his head.

"Perhaps if Captain Lightoller was still in command we might have a chance but I have no idea what happened to him. I heard his brother was found out to be a Resistance operative and was hung as a traitor. The fallout from that had quite stained his name and his career. I doubt he was left in command of one of Mechanos' two remaining prize submarines." Josh turned back to Coralis.

"When will the fleet arrive?"

"Tomorrow, early at best."

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Alright everyone. So, for those of you unaware, I based the Rotarian Titan-class designs on the Japanese Yamato-class. Because my information was limited when I made the tech guide, I will go ahead and say that Syllia, Tellanos, and Praetoria _will_ get another class of battleship.

I was thinking of the Bismarck-class for Syllia, the Hutten-class for Tellanos (mainly because I have absolutely NO idea where to find Russian warship types or photos), and the King George V and Lion-classes for Praetoria, and the Iowa-class for Tullinar. If you like these selections, please PM me, or review me, and let me know!

Also, I've decided to deploy the second of the three Olympia-class super subs. Can the allied fleet overcome the threat?

Next Chapter: The Titans of Rotiart Part 1


	56. Titans of Rotiart Part 1

Well, another day, another chapter. October is rapidly passing us by and for the United States the time for elections has come. You know the part I love most about the elections? The ending. Because I know that I have voted for the people I believed were right for the country and that FINALLY I can actually sit down and eat my lunch without sixteen different calls coming through asking me who I'm voting for.

I mean, seriously, you know those signs you can put on your door or out in your yard that read:

NO SOLICITING

We are too broke to buy anything.

We know who we are voting for.

We have found Jesus.

Seriously, unless you are giving away beer,

PLEASE GO AWAY!

Wish there was something like that but programable on the land line of the home phone. Heh, anybody come up with something like that around election time, they'd make a fortune. Anyway, on to the story.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 55: The Titans of Rotiart Part 1

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Josh looked over the Rotarian planes as the deck crews worked to repair and refuel them. Underneath the wings of the twin engine night fighters were fitted two bombs. Though it had been explained to him, he still found the idea of guided munitions an impossibility. After trying again and again to understand it, he finally decided to take Kronan's explanation at face value and instead concentrate on something else. All the Rotarian planes had nearly the same markings.

The base paintjob was a black undercoat mottled with grey. The ID tags and numbers along the fuselage were painted stark white. The only actual color on the planes was the black and grey diamond on the nose, the black and orange triangle on the wings, and the solid orange rudder. Kronan told him this was the standard paint and markings of the RAAF. If the Rotarians were to fight alongside the Syllians and others, they needed a way to be told apart.

There was too little time to repaint all the planes, so, Josh reasoned, a change of emblems was neccessary. The trick was, what emblem would the Rotarians approve of and still stand out enough that there could be no mistake? He held a small pad of paper in his hand with a small collection of his paints beside him. Of the twelve sketches so far, none had seemed fitting. He was also aware of one of the wounded griffons who, with a sprained wing, was unable to follow the others to the dragon carrier, was perched by the island bridge and watching him with keen interest.

Josh finally sighed and glanced back to the griffon.

"I don't suppose you have any ideas about how to make the Rotarian planes different from the enemy?" The griffon cocked its head and then looked to the planes. Josh, figuring the griffon didn't understand, shook his head and returned to the pad.

"The flag..." Josh turned back with a start.

"I beg your pardon?" The griffon smiled.

"It was said in ancient times, when Rotiart was a wholesome land, it did have the dread pinnions fly over it as it does today. No, it had a tricolor flag of gold, white, and silver. It was under this flag that rows upon rows of knights bore a four-pointed star of silver with a gold octagon embedded within. Under that flag, Rotiart knew peace. We may not have been considered an empire, but that didn't matter."

As Josh listened, he drew on the paper. When the griffon finished speaking, he felt it look over his shoulder at the drawings.

"Remarkable. However, there's only one thing. The colors on the flag ran horizontally, not vertically. Still, for a six-thousand year old design that only exists by being passed on by memory and story, it's a remarkable replica." Josh nodded and made the adjustment. When the griffon looked a second time, it nodded.

Josh had drawn a small square with gold, white, and silver marks running from left to right. In the middle was a four-pointed star painted silver and within it was a golden octagon. One of the pilots running by saw the emblem and nodded.

"It won't be much, but I think it'll be enough to keep our new allies from blowing _us_ out of the sky by accident." As an alarm rose from one of the outlying escorts, Josh turned to the deck crew.

"I want every Rotarian plane painted with this emblem before they take off. No exceptions!" The roaring of machines overhead heralded the CAP moving to engage the dive-bombers and torpedo bombers that had apparently been launched to soften up the fleet for the Rotarian fleet's arrival.

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The depth gauge read 864 feet. The steady pinging of the sonar the only sound as the _Olympia_ navigated the deep water trench that lay beneath the ocean surface. For the sake of maintaining silence, Captain Frank Lightoller had only two engines running ahead slow speed, which for a sub of this size meant five knots. He currently had a special headset linked to the deep-water radio the _Olympia_ was prototyping and testing.

In theory, a radio beacon is released as a floatation device with a long length of cable tethering it to the sub. This allowed the submarine to send and receive radio messages even if operating at it's maximum safe depth. However, waves were buffeting the cable making the signal choppy. One thing was clear to Captain Lightoller: Things topside were going FUBAR.

One one side, Mechanos, the man who every sailor on this sub had swore loyalty to, ordering them to engage and destroy the enemy fleet, even if they had to use the V4 Nuclear rockets to do so. On another, a constant report from the Syllian flagship _Leviathan_, stating that a silver griffon had been discovered and that their oaths to Mechanos were no longer valid. The last was from the flagship _Kronos_ ordering the sub to begin underwater sweeps for sea dragons and other subs ahead of the fleet. The last having been followed by an immediate 'Do Not Engage' order.

What was thoroughly damning was that Mechanos had supposedly _ordered_ the silver griffon be killed before it could safely reach shelter.

If he had indeed issued the order, it would be in Lightoller's opinion that he should wash his hands of Mechanos and defect with his sub to the Syllian fleet. But there was a problem with that plan. Most of the crew with him were like minded but required something more than a radio broadcast to make them believe. So, risking Mechanos' ire, Captain Lightoller opted to heed the last transmission and forgo the V4 bombardment and try to sneak so close to the _Leviathan _that he could surface right alongside her without risking attack from the nearby escorts.

Once surfaced, they would board her, and, if the rumors were true, they would surrender, if not, well, he was sure Mechanos would love the chance to flout the crown jewel of Syllia's 5th fleet under Rotarian colors.

Either way, if he played his cards right, he and his crew would survive to see the end of the war. They may not thank him for it, but that was the burden that he chose to bear.

The radioman looked to him, eyes searching for something, _anything_, that might tell what he intended to do. Captain Lightoller patted the young man's shoulder and turned back to the Con.

"Adjust heading to zero-nine-zero. Maintain speed and depth, rig for silent running. Radio, withdraw the line." The XO looked at him.

"Captain, I feel I _must_ protest this. First we dive below our ordered attack depth. Then, he had moved out of the protective circle of the fleet. Now you are ordering us to sever our last mean of communication? Sir, I will not pretend to know what you are doing but may I ask why?" Captain Lightoller gave him a flat look.

"No Mr. Ister, you may not. Our orders are... '_conflicted_' at best. I would prefer to get a better grasp of the situation before I give the order to launch those city-busters to sink a few tin cans and a carrier. In the deep we are well below range of depth charges, and we are also below the thermal layer meaning their sonar cannot detect us but we can still hear their's."

"Sir, our orders, as I understand them, are cut and dry: Engage the enemy fleet with the V4s and _SHOW NO QUARTER OR MERCY_." Captain Lightoller looked around to the crew and motioned for Ister to follow him. The Captain's cabin was a little ways down the hall and was soundproof.

Once the Captain came in and motioned for Ister to shut the door, he rounded on him, eyes blazing with fury.

"What _ARE_ you doing?! How _DARE_ you question me in front of the crew! You _do_ realize, don't you, that the majority of the crew no longer knows what we're fighting for? They have been cussed out, dragged down, embarrassed, humiliated, and who knows what else; and for _WHAT?_" Ister gaped for a moment before regaining his composure.

"Sir. Our orders from Emperor Mechanos-"

"Are garbled and unclear. I am _not_ going to risk _my_ ship and crew on some act of revenge. Now then, if you have any further objections, I'll personally carry you to the forward torpedo room and launch you into the deep blue." He then placed a hand on the XO's shoulder and leaned in extra close to him and dropped his voice to a whisper.

"And if you _ever_ question my orders before the crew again, I shall have you arrested for attempted mutiny. Dismissed."

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The rounds from the cannons ripped through the thinly armored dive bomber moments before the plane pressed the release on the weapon. The bomb fell but missed all the ships, slashing harmlessly into the water. Below, Gerald could see the Rotarian planes on the _Leviathan_'s flight deck just starting to get into the air. Dieter's group, newly bolstered with more defectors, forming up into a new CAP over the carrier. Kronan's group, armed with the special explosives, were waiting for the last of the CAP and escort fighters to get airborne.

So far, Gerald's group and Reyson's group was doing pretty good, having downed what appeared to be thirty percent of the hostile aircraft. The ships from Tullinar had linked up with the fleet, bolstering their numbers considerably.

The Tullinar Navy, with both Damoneni and Callinar as neighbors, had made many efforts to bolster their naval strength. To that end, they used everything from purchased Praetorian ships, salvaged Damoneni vessels, and combined Syllian and Praetorian designs to create their own ships.

The Praetorians, once they saw the size of the Tullinar capital-class ships: the carriers, battleships, and battlecruisers, they were green with envy.

The flagship of the Tullinar fleet, _Ullysses_, easily dwarfed their battleship, _Magnificent_ across the board. The _Magnificent_ had twelve inches of steel plate protecting her hull, _Ullysses _had seventeen. The Praetorian main guns were sixteen inch diameter, Tullinar had somehow created eighteen inch diameter cannons. The top speed of the _Magnificent_ was 25 Knots, _Ullysses_, again, trumped them with 34 Knots. Based on the amount of flak she was putting up it was fair to say the Tullinar ships had the Praetorians beat in the AA defence department as well.

The Rotarians, the _hostile_ ones, had not expected such fierce resistance and actually flew _into_ the range of fire, expecting an easy kill. If Gerald was correct in his assumptions, the Tullinar Navy had learned the hard lessons with the loss of the battlecruiser _Eclipse_ during the early days of the war when both Callinar and Damoneni invaded. Thirty divebombers dropped two 500lb bombs each almost right on top of the ship that had a AA defence of ten dual-mount anti-air guns and whatever small arms the crew could muster.

The wreck was still visible in Quentinville harbor. A sad reminder that times were quickly outpacing nations and the men who defended them. He vaguely gave a thought as to what things would be like 25, 50, 100 years from now.

His thoughts were interrupted as a flight of torpedo bombers flew carelessly under him, right into his gunsights. Holding the trigger, he yawed the rudder and walked the rounds from the right-most aircraft to the left-most one without them even breaking formation. A completely rookie mistake.

_(Just what kind of pilots are they throwing at us? These guys probably have little to no combat experience.)_

He voiced this through the radio and immediately got a response from Kronan.

_"They must be a part of the 32nd Corps. Damn Mechanos! He's sending kids into battle who have more patriotic furvor for their country than common sense!"_

"Can we try to force them down somehow?"

_"Maybe. What did you have in mind?"_

"I need to get a line to the dragon carrier in the fleet."

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While the aircraft from the carriers were flying above protecting the fleet. Gojani and the rest of the dragons found themselves sharing quarters with the griffons that had defected. Normally, though there was an attack, the dragons took the time to rest. recover, eat, and replenish their energy. A few of the younger dragons had not gotten anything to eat and instead watched the griffons with either wary or curious expressions.

The younger griffons had opted to do the same thing but their curiousity was directed at the dragons.

It wasn't until a griffon who wore a plate around its neck came over near the dragons and lay down with its lunch, a large fish one of the sea dragons had caught and the crew had seared to what Gojani thought was absolute perfection, and started eating, all the while eyeing the little griffon observing a large female ice dragoness and then chuckled as his own shadow, a young lightning dragon who was crouched just a little ways away, blushed as his stomach growled audibly.

Using a talon on his foreclaw, the griffon carved a large section from the fish and slid it over to the young dragon who eyed it a little unsure at first but once the griffon gave a reassureing nod, dove into the fish wholeheartedly. Gojani couldn't help but chuckle.

"You know he's going to be standing around you whenever it's time to eat from now on until we go home." The griffon chuckled.

"I don't mind. To be honest this was more fish than I could have eaten at once anyway. He's young. Plenty of time when you're young to sate that curiousity. Besides, if we're going to be working together, our two races need to learn to coexist on this ship if we are to coexist in the world once this all blows over." Gojani nodded and gazed upwards to the sky.

"Does it ever bother you? Knowing that while you're here, humans from our countries are up there, dying, I mean." The griffon nodded.

"I've seen many things in my life. Some pleasant, others less so. Humans will always fight for what they believe is right. The same way that, once this war is over, we gold griffons will likely still be fighting the dread griffons. At least you dragons don't have any threats to worry over." Gojani gave an uneasy chuckle.

"Not so. Apparently you never heard of Malefor or Vekx."

Just as the griffon started to ask what he meant, an alarm blared and a creman came running for Gojani, who eyed the crewman worriedly.

"What's wrong? Is the carrier under attack?"

"No sir. But we recieved word from Captain Kronan and Captain Ross that the pilots up there, the enemy, they are from a group called the 32nd Corps, which, I am told, is mainly kids fresh from the academy." Gojani saw the griffon flinch and utter a curse in griffonspeak.

"Likely Mechanos ordered them into combat before their training was complete. What are we supposed to do?" The crewman turned to him and spoke as if he were addressing another dragon and not a griffon.

"Mainly fly and try to bring the planes down as intact as possible. If we can save the pilot and crew, the better. The sea dragons in reserve have already deployed to save what pilots are in the water." Gojani looked to him.

"How are we supposed to bring down planes? I thought our orders were to leave the planes to the CAP?"

"According to Kronan, these dive-bombers and torpedo-carriers are an older design. One of the reason they can down them so easily is because they can't break the two-hundred miles per hour mark. They're maneuverable but not very durable. The pilots can incapacitate the plane and from there it falls to you to get to the plane, break the canopy open, and save the pilot and crew." The griffon looked to Gojani.

"Well, sounds like we've got a fun time ahead." Gojani nodded reluctantly.

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Josh stood ramrod straight as he gazed through the binoculars and watched as the battleships and other capital ships of the fleet started moving off to intercept the incoming fleet. He took a moment to glance as the _Rampant Lion_, Walker's ship, saluted with a horn blast as it sailed by with the _Prince Obël_, _Damocles_, _Queen's Decree_, _Temeraire_, and _Lohengriin_ following along in it's wake.

He didn't like the idea of seperating the fleet, leaving the carriers behind with all light escorts and other ships too lightly armored or armed to make much of an impact in the battle, while all the heavy hitters and heavy escorts went forward into the battle. If had hadn't known better, he'd have suspected that perhaps the reason his Father had given him command of a carrier was to minimize the risk of him being in a direct engagement. Still, he felt that he was doing his former XO and comrades a disservice. Here he was, a combat naval officer, stuck on a carrier while the other vessels went into battle.

He was torn between his dragon instincts wanting action and his human instincts dreading it.

He felt someone tap his shoulder and saw Anne looking at him.

"Are you alright Josh? You spaced out on us." Josh shook his head and looked apologetic.

"Sorry, I was woolgathering. What was it?" Anne pointed to the radar.

"We've detected a large, four-engine plane and several smaller two engine planes inbound towards the fleet. They're confirmed Rotarian but for some reason the four engine plane is broadcasting a distress call." Josh nodded and turned to the radar.

"Open comms with the plane, put it on the squawk." The radar operator nodded and flipped a switch.

_"Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. This is Ritter calling Syllian fleet. I am requesting assistance, escort and permission to land."_ Josh picked up the transmitter.

"This is Captain Joshua de Launces of the _RNV Leviathan_. Pilot, state your name and intention."

_"My... My intention is to defect. I am flying a plane filled with people Mechanos has classified as 'political enemies of the state'. As for my name, I cannot say it otherwise the RAAF may choose to intercede quicker than normal."_ Josh immediately became serious.

"_Leviathan _copies Ritter. Come to course 155 and approach. How many souls on board?"

_"Uh... sixty at last count. We were shot at as I took off so we have some wounded. I have one engine damaged, and I'm leaking fuel from somewhere."_ Josh nodded to the Air Boss and turned to the flight comms officer.

"Notify the CAP we've got a wounded bird incoming. I don't know if his story checks out but I'm not going to risk it." He turned back to the transmitter.

"Ritter we are clearing the flight deck and sending escorts to you. Now, I need to confirm something. I have no choice but to ask you your name again." There was a sigh on the other end.

_"Is Dieter Muntz there?"_

"Negative, he's up with the fighters going after the fleet; why?"

_"My name is Kaleb Muntz, Sergeant with the 14th Aerial Transit Corps. I'm Dieter's son."_ Josh's jaw dropped as did most of the people on the bridge.

"Okay Sergeant. Now then, who exactly do you have on board?"

_"I have my mother, my sister, the Voss family, Adeline Kronan, and many other families whose lives were... altered... by my Father's original defection."_ Josh checked the radar screen and back to the radio.

"If you like I can have Dieter diverted to you, he's close by."

_"No! I- I mean negative... I... I don't think now would be a good time for me or any of my family to see him-"_ At that moment, a woman's voice broke through the radio.

_"Kaleb Dieter Muntz Junior, don't you __**DARE**__ start THAT again! If your Father is the closest pilot to us then, by God, you __**will**__ ask him for his help." _Josh just barely managed to stifle a laugh at hearing who was obviously Kaleb's mother using his full name over the radio. Then there was another voice, this one younger.

_"KD, is it true? Dad's nearby somewhere?"_ Josh keyed the radio.

"This is Captain de Launces, I am contacting Major Muntz and patching him through. Hold a moment." He looked over to the FCO who nodded and flipped a switch. Immediately, Dieter's voice came on the radio.

_"Kaleb? Kaleb is that you?" _Kaleb's voice was hesitant but the younger voice was not.

_"Dad! Dad, it's us! Kaleb was so awesome! He flew the transport over the internment camp with his squadron, blasted the guard posts, landed in the middle of the road, got us in and took off before the guards even knew what hit them!"_ There was a startled cough from Dieter.

_"Brigette, that's good dear but, I need to talk to your brother. KD, you there?"_

_ "Yeah... Dad."_

_ "Good, now then, I'm coming to you. I have Wolff and Voss with me and we are linking up with the group dispatched from the carrier. When we get there, we'll fall in alongside you. Don't stray from your course and don't let yourself get distracted until you are safely on the carrier. Captain de Launces, is the _Leviathan_ long enough for a multi-engine transport to land properly?"_ Josh turned the question to the Air Boss who nodded.

"Yeah, we'll have to suspend our current operations and clear the deck of practically everything but it can be done. Just don't expect to be cleared to take off again. Deck's too short for a take off." There was a mutter as Kaleb came back on.

_"That's fine. I doubt this damn crate'll stay up much longer, I- Damn! Engine number two is fluctuating! Harris, see what you can do with it. Mom, for God's sake get Bee back into her seat! Cut power to engine one by ten percent, adjust flaps. Ah, damn. We'll have to drop lower. Taking it down to Angels Ten. Just so you know I now only have one properly functioning engine, the others are dead or dying."_ Josh immediately turned to the Air Boss.

"Sound crash alarms, ready medical teams one through four. Come about heading one-five-five, rudder hard to port. Starboard engines flank speed ahead, port engines full astern. Rig barricade nets in case they land safely, notify the sea dragons in case they go into the water!"

Just as the ship started to move, alarms blared from the escorts as they started to rush towards the _Leviathan_. Josh glanced over the water and paled as he saw a periscope slowly gliding its way towards the carrier.

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The exchange on the radio was heard by Kronan but he paid little attention to it. His attention was entirely focused on the Rotarian warships arrayed before the still forming United Fleet below. He was just waiting for permission from the fleet commander to drop his payload against the hostile Rotarian ships. As he waited, the radio crackled and came to life.

The broadcast of the news of a silver griffon had begun.

_"Attention, all Rotarian forces. This is Captain Joshua de Launces of the Syllian carrier _RNV Leviathan_. There have been rumors of a silver griffon being spotted on the border of Tellanos and Schildhaven. Upon investigating, we have found this rumor true and have rescued the silver griffon from assassins sent by Mechanos to eliminate her."_

_ "Mechanos, and through him, the dread griffons, are __**NOT**__ your allies. They seek only to keep you in the dark and blinded to all else that happens around you. The nation of Rotiart has suffered greatly but what has become of inflicting that suffering upon other nations that only desire peace? I ask you, soldier to soldier, cease all hostile acts and stand down. For together, we can stop Mechanos and his dread griffons and once again make the world a peaceful place."_

_ "My Father, James de Launces, King of Syllia, wishes only that the people and soldiers of Rotiart open their eyes to the terrors that have been wrought in this world, and open their hearts to the hope that, with Mechanos removed from power, we can all work together to rebuilding our nations, and secure peace for our children, and for our children's children."_

_ "We do not seek Rotiart's destruction, but rather it's redemption. I ask again, please stand down."_

Kronan felt the emotion in the words and watched the fleet. Doubtless they had heard it but how many of them were so blindly loyal that they had turned their radios off? He was answered moments later.

_"Attention, all vessels. The only thing that exists between Rotiart and Syllia and their so-called 'allies' is hatred. Their claim of having a silver griffon is false and cannot be trusted. Recognize their lies for what they are, and sink the enemy for daring to claim such travesties."_ Kronan growled and keyed his radio.

"Attention, Rotarian fleet. This is Captain Hans Kronan, formerly of the 12th Air Corps. I have seen this silver griffon with my own eyes and their stories are true. Mechanos had sent elements of the 666th Fighter Wing as well as an entire force of dread griffons to kill her before she could reach sanctuary. I... I cast aside my career, and everything I held dear on this rumor and now my hopes and sacrifices are vindicated." He gazed around and saw a few of the CAP fighters over the hostile fleet start circling, unsure of what to do.

"As an officer of the Rotarian Air Force, I ask you to stand down and cease all hostile actions." There was a chorus of similar statements from several other pilots as well as soldiers on board the warships. He didn't know if they were having an effect though. For a long while there was an uneasy silence. That silence was broken as a vessel, a Rotarian Kreuz-class heavy destroyer suddenly changed course from the fleet and slowly advanced on the United Fleet. He flipped through the frequencies until he found the one they had switched to.

_"This is the heavy destroyer _RPS Challenger_. Sir, I request permission to act as a go-between. Maybe there is something to these rumors if so many Rotarian soldiers and pilots have already joined them?"_

_ "Negative _Challenger._ Get back in formation, the Army and Air Force may tolerate these... __**TRAITORS**__ but the Navy will not. Cease your course and return to the formation."_

_ "Commander, sir, please. Order a temporary cease-fire... we... we don't know what we're doing anymore! If there __**IS**__ a silver griffon then it's existance must be made known! Sir, I repeat my request to act as a go-between to better understand the situation."_

There was a long pause.

_"I understand the situation perfectly. Attention, all vessels. A traitor is blocking our path to the enemy. Attack the heavy destroyer _Challenger_ immediately! Once it is out of the way, begin plotting trajectories on the enemy capital ships!"_

Kronan saw the lone destroyer, _Challenger_, start to take evasive maneuvers as it's Captain pleaded with the fleet commander but to no avail. He watched with horror as shells from the large Titan-class battleship in the middle of the formation turn it's entire complement of guns onto the destroyer and unleashed a broadside at the same time as three Tyrann-class battlecruisers, completely obliterating the ship and setting it ablaze.

Down below, men screamed as they jumped from their burning ship into the water, already burning with the fuel that had leaked out of the ship's hull. The bow of the _Challenger_ lifted upward to the heavens, then slowly sank as she flooded compartment by compartment. Kronan dropped his head, surely after such a display of brute force, no man among the Rotarians would surrender now.

_"Attention, all vessels. This is the Titan-class battleship _Harbinger_ of the glorious Rotarian Navy, we cannot follow a fleet commander willing to sink one of his own ships for exercising caution! We shall soon see for ourselves if this story of a silver griffon is truth or lie soon enough. All ships who are with us, change course and follow us!"_

Kronan looked down in amazement as two of the massive Titan-class battleships, two Tyrann-class battlecruisers, six cruisers, and four destroyers broke away from the main fleet and started making their way towards the United Fleet. The radio crackled to life again, the once cool and collected fleet commander, now incensed beyond belief, yelled into his radio.

_"ANY vessels that do not follow the flagship WILL be fired upon! Our orders are from the Emperor himself! We are to sink the engage the enemy vessels long enough for the _Olympia _to get within range to launch her payload at the enemy carriers! Disobediance to Mechanos is treason to Rotiart!"_ Kronan paled as he heard that and flipped the radio back to the Syllian frequency.

"Alert! Carrier forces and escorts! Hostile submarine, _Olympia_, is nearing your position for a sneak attack!"

_"This is the _TNV Jamestown_, we have detected the enemy sub but have not enaged. They... I can't believe this... They've surfaced almost right beside the _Leviathan_ and have stricken their colors. I repeat. The super submarine _Olympia_ has surrendered. They wanted to see if the rumors were true. Now they are surrendering their vessel."_ Moments later, another voice came through the radio.

_"This is Captain Lightoller of the submarine _RPS Olympia_. I have confirmed what the radio report was saying as truth. A silver griffon is currently on board the _RNV Leviathan_. We have taken up with the escorts to protect the vessel from harm. All Rotarian vessels loyal to your homeland, and I mean Rotiart, NOT Mechanos, strike your colors and surrender immediately!"_

There was more swearing from the Rotarian vessels that apparently, were loyal to Mechanos unto death and started firing, not at the United Fleet, but their own vessels that were defecting. The first salvo from an enemy Rotarian battlecruiser struck the first ship to defect, _RPS Harbinger_, across the stern and blew away part of her aft radio tower.

The stern guns of the massive battleship immediately answered, dropping three massive eighteen inch diameter shells through the deck of the offending vessel, striking the magazine and blowing the bow out and the forward turret upwards, out of the housing. Kronan watched as the large turret flipped through the air like a bottlecap and came down almost on top of a nearby cruiser.

The ceasefire was over, and now the battle was on.

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Next Chapter: Titans of Rotiart Part 2

FYI: The naval maneuver in which a ship throws one engine in reverse and keeps the other going foward is a maneuver used in the event of an emergency. I don't know what it's called but apparently, the purpose of the manuever is to assist the rudder in making a tighter turn by keeping the engines on the inside of the curve going in reverse while keeping the outside engines full ahead. This maneuver is also used at slower speeds when docking or leaving port.

Well, if you like how this is going so far, please PM me, review or comment.


	57. Titans of Rotiart Part 2

Well everyone, I have a joke someone told me for ya'll. It is a joke in the spirit of the upcoming elections for the United States.

A man comes up to his friend and gets his attention. The man asks: "What's the matter?"

"I got a problem, remember about what I spoke to you about last week?"

"You mean about you worryin' about what your son'll be when he grows up?"

"Yep. I did exactly what you told me to do. I put a twenty dollar bill, a bible, and a fifth of whiskey on the table, hid, and waited for him to come home. I remember you said if he takes the money, he'll be a banker; if he takes the bible, he'll be a pastor, and if he takes the whiskey he'll be a drunk."

"Well? What'd he take?"

"He took all three, now what's _that_ mean?" The friend paled and slapped his forehead.

"Oh my Lord, he'll be a politician!"

How's that for humor? I'll tell ya, in the words of my pastor, Brother Roger, 'If _that_ don't ring ya bell then yer clapper's broke'. (gets hit by a bell)

Gotta fix that blasted thing. Last time the bell broke, we had a heck of a time chasin' the bats out of the belfry. (a bat flies over and dogs start howling)

Well, Happy Halloween? You know, I don't mind the dogs howling at night, keeps the wildlife away. I just wish they wouldn't do it right outside my window...

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 56: Titans of Rotiart Part 2

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Smoke from the burning ships turned the normal, blue sky into a pitch black maelstrom. Fire from burning fuel gave the serene ocean a hellish appearance. While the heavily armored and armed capital ships slugged it out left and right, lightly armored escorts and small craft fell victim to stray rounds, secondary weapons fire, or the occasional, spiteful, cannon shell through the wheelhouse. That doesn't mean they were helpless.

The small destroyers, destroyer escorts, and light cruisers on both sides were going this way and that, trying with all their might to line up a torpedo salvo that could, and would, send an enemy ship to the bottom. Up in the clouds where Kronan fought with the Mechanos Loyalists, the bubble trails of the torpedoes crisscrossed the sea in an odd sort of 'checkerboard'. The most impressive exchange was where a Praetorian destroyer fired off an entire complement of twelve torpedoes at an incoming anti-air cruiser that, having closed with a different destroyer, lowered it's anti-air cannons to rake the lightly armored warship.

Of the torpedoes, eight hit their target, and the remaining four sailed on to strike, of all things, the ass-end of a hostile battlecruiser doing its damndest to avoid a torpedo spread fired from another destroyer. The anti-air cruiser was unceremoniously abandoned as she rolled to her side and sank within six minutes of getting hit.

The Rotarians also got a full view of the Praetorian 'secret weapon': the SLEO (Ship-Launched Explosive Ordnance) 18 inch Anti-ship Rocket. A short, squat rocket that, like the Tellanian 'Katyusha' was laid on a ramp and launched at a vessel. A special tail design kept it level as it flew and, depending on the warhead setting, it could detonate upon contact like a torpedo, or it could pierce the hull and detonate inside like a delayed-timed shell.

This weapon, in conjunction with torpedoes and the destroyer crew's 'Never Say Die' attitude, allowed them to stand before larger vessels and give them a beating they'd never forget. These so-called 'tin-cans' may not have been able to take a beating but they could sure as hell give one.

As Kronan shot down the fighter before him, his headset clicked on with his co-pilot/bombadier, Sergeant Franc Samson.

"Sir, I have identified our target: Titan-class battleship _RPS Juggernaut_. Request permission to arm weapon." Kronan scanned the skies nearby and, not seeing any hostile aircraft, gave his okay. He heard Samson flip a switch and a red light came on near the altimeter gauges.

"Weapon is armed. Please maintain holding pattern near the target vessel. Releasing weapon in five... four... three... two... one... Now." Kronan felt a bump as the large bomb under the fuselage released. Gazing left towards the target ship, a large battleship currently holding back towards the outer flank of the fleet. It was made distinctive because a three round salvo from one of the defecting battlecruisers had ripped through the aft turret which was now burning.

"I have eyes on a weak spot. Try and guide it down to that damaged turret. If we can get the weapon to the magazine, we can sink the ship with a catastrophic explosion."

"I copy. Aiming down the rabbit hole."

Kronan saw the weapon sail by the aircraft, wings and rudder unfolding as it dropped and move as Samson guided it. While Samson's eyes were glued to the moniter showing the bomb, Kronan remained on alert looking for fighters. A quick glance at his panel showed that his altitude was holding steady at 18,525 feet. He gave a glance in his mirror that let him see what was behind him and saw Samson giving a faint smile.

"Weapon is now passing Angels Fifteen. Heh, that warhead must be a lot heavier than the practice bombs we used this tech on. Before getting assigned combat, we practiced 'smartening up' two-hundred fifty and five-hundred pounders. Guess two-thousand pounds falls faster than five-hundred, eh?" Kronan chuckled.

"Lawson's Sixth Principle: A heavier object falls at a faster rate than a lighter object of similar size." Samson chuckled.

"Yeah, and the Seventh Principle goes on to state that once an object hits terminal velocity, it will be going at the fastest possible speed and at the greatest possible momentum. Hmm... weapon is passing Angels Twelve. No abnormalities. How we looking up here?"

"Skies are clean, except for the smoke. No hostiles. Either we splashed them all or they just don't know we're up here. Though, I'm inclined to believe the former than the latter."

"Yeah, three carriers. No way in hell we splashed all of them or got them all to have a change of heart. They're up here, it's just a matter of if and when we come across one or more of them. Weapon is now at Angels Nine, it seems the weapon has reached terminal velocity." Kronan thought of something when he said that.

"So, how often did the weapons actually punch a hole clear through the target?" There was a pause.

"Hmm... Never thought about that. Well, I can say it never happened in training but, again, that was, _'training'_. No way we'd know what happens if we use new weapons in a live-combat scenario. I doubt a ship that heavily armored will simply yield to having a one Ton hole punched through it. But, stranger things have happened. Passing Angels Five, it's closing in fast... Okay, weapon is almost right over the target, I am steepening the dive. This is going to be like hitting a bullseye with a pea-shooter at five miles."

"A lot different from carpet bombing, huh?"

"Yeah... I think the higher ups called it 'precision bombing' or something like that... You think it'll ever become SOP?"

"Directing a weapon to destroy a target with minimal collateral damage? Sounds like a win to me. ETA to Weapon impact?"

"Passing nine-fifty... eight-fifty... seven-fifty... six-fifty... five-fifty... four... three... two... one... IMPACT!" Kronan caught a flash to his right and rolled the plane as three fighters shot through the smoke and tried to get on his tail. Samson, however, was livid.

"No detonation! The weapon didn't go! Dammit! What the hell happened? Did it _actually _plow straight through the damn-"

It had just so happened that Kronan was upside-down and eyeing the _Juggernaut_ when he saw a flicker in the hole through the aft turret. The flicker, in the blink of an eye, turned into an explosion that blew the sides out, lifted the remains of the turret out of the housing, shredded the aft bridge and smokestack with debris, and folded the aft deck backwards onto itself. Through the roaring inferno, Kronan could see through the ship all the way down to the keel which was laid open, flooding the ship from within.

"I'd call that a direct hit, Sergeant."

"Yeah, well don't pop the cork yet, we got company."

"I see 'em. Hang onto your stripes, this might get a little bumpy." Samson laughed at that.

"Haven't you heard Captain? My stripes are sewn onto me. So go ahead, do your worst!" Kronan chuckled.

"You asked for it."

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It was a strange sight, the super submarine _Olympia_, anchored next to the _Retemed_. With an emergency coming in, it had been the general opinion to move the silver griffon to the dragon carrier temporarily. The crew of the submarine, once they saw the little griffon immediately felt at ease about their Captain's decision. Only a moderate sized group, including the XO, had put up a fight and they had been unceremoniously tossed in the ship's brig.

Still though, one thing that hadn't sat well with Captain Lightoller was that they had been asked to remain surfaced near the fleet until the battle's conclusion. Still, the time wasn't boring. Several sailors had taken the chance to admire the size of the submarine and a few laughed when a dragon decided the deck was too crowded for his liking and glided down to drape himself over the aft conning tower. Still though, a few crewmen were allowed to listen to radio reports from the battle.

More than once he entertained the thought of getting his crew back aboard and heading back into battle. However, while he could do without an XO, he couldn't do it without a few other positions that had been left vacant by the Loyalists. Primarily, what he needed was a weapons officer, trained crewmen, and of course and officer to oversee the engines and damage control teams.

He had just concluded making a mental list of who he needed when the nearby Syllian sub tender _Orion_ gave off an alarm. He ran to the railing and saw a conning tower breach the surface near the _Olympia_. The top hatch flew open and a drenched sailor in a petty officer's uniform scrambled out of the hatch, panic on his face. He gazed around the deck of the dragon carrier and sighed with relief.

"We got depth charged near the inlet! A second fleet is coming up from the rear. No battleships, just a battlecruiser, cruisers, and escorts! The Captain's injured and the stern compartments are flooded, we barely got back here on batteries!" Lightoller turned and saw the deck officer of the _Retemed_ and waved him over.

"Can the fleet here hold off a battlecruiser and escorts?" The deck officer thought for a moment but shook his head.

"It's possible, but the only offense we'd have are the dragons and griffons. What are you planning?" Lightoller looked to the damaged submarine that the sea dragon Tidus was helping to surface completely and gazed at the conning deck.

"Petty Officer! How many men are still fit to fight?"

"Most of us are sir, just a little drenched!" Lightoller turned to the deck officer.

"Take what time you need to get your defences in order." Lightoller turned to his crew.

"Chief! Board the crew! All hands to the _Olympia_ and prepare to sail! You men there on the sub, if you have no qualms about putting on a dry Rotarian uniform, we could use the manpower! Deck Officer, I thank you and the crew of the _Retemed _for your hospitality, but now we have a duty to perform and a damn good reason to do it." The Deck Officer glanced to the Captain who was on the bridge watching the proceedings. The ship's Captain picked up the PA transmitter and keyed it.

_"Attention, all hands. Make ready to assist the crew of the Olympia in their departure. They are heading for the inlet to delay the enemy. Captain Lightoller; fair winds and following seas to you!"_

Captain Lightoller gave a salute and oversaw the boarding of the _Olympia_ by the Syllian sailors and his own crew who were just as glad as he was to stop twiddling their thumbs and get back to sea. With no ceremony, the hatches on the super sub were thrown open, the crew boarded and shut the hatches and Lightoller was in the Control Room overwatching as the Rotarian crewmen gave the Syllian submariners the 'condensed version' of controls.

As this went on, the overhead radio in the Con went off. Turning it on, the voice of the _Retemed_'s Captain came through.

_"Captain Lightoller, the bow and aft lines are away. We are also moving away from the sub. Recommend you static dive, then engage your engines."_ Lightoller answered and then turned to his crew.

"Chief of the boat, sound the dive. Open all ballast tanks, make our depth nine-zero feet." The new chief, a Syllian, nodded and turned to the diving crew.

"Foward and aft planes twenty degrees down bubble, flood all ballast. Static dive." He walked over to a panel that read 'Dive Alarm' and triggered the claxon four times and keyed the sub comms.

"All stations we are diving now. Rig for dive." The panels for the ballast tank vents turned from green (closed) to red (open) and the lower observation periscope was raised." As Lightoller looked through the periscope, he heard the dive officer sound the depth.

"Current depth is four-zero feet, sir." He nodded.

"Deck is awash. All appears normal."

A few moments later the conning tower was submerged, the periscope withdrawn, and the sub hovered at 90 feet.

"All stations, negative sonar, we're too close to the dragon carrier. Inner engines ahead two-thirds, outer engines ahead one-third. Once we're clear of the fleet, all engines go to flank speed. XO, in the event we encounter the enemy before we reach the inlet, I want all crew to battlestations, immediately. Also, someone tell me if our missiles officer is still on board." One of the Rotarian crew looked to him in confusion.

"Sir, do you mean to use the nuclear rockets?" Lightoller, seeing the horrified expressions on the Syllians shook his head.

"No. As long as I'm in command of this sub, she'll never fire one of those weapons. Ever. I mean to launch standard warheads." The sailor who had spoken looked relieved and then stood.

"Well then sir, Petty Officer Second Class Bauer at your service. I suppose I'm the only man from the missile compartments who stayed on."

"Can you arm the standard rockets and instruct the Syllians to do likewise?" Bauer nodded.

"The settings are simple. I just need to adjust the gyros on the rockets to the coordinates of the hostile ships. However, sir, just in case you didn't know, we cannot fire the rockets while moving. Unlike the _Gigantic_, however, we _are_ equipped with submersable launchers. That means we can fire the rockets while submerged. At last count, we have the full complement of seventy-four Klasse One standard rockets and ten Klasse Two Nuclear rockets." Lightoller nodded.

"Once we fire those rockets, they'll know where we are. What is the maximum detonation depth of depth charges?" The sonar operator looked to him.

"Sir, the Klasse Eight depth charge has a maximum effective depth of five-hundred and eighty-seven feet. Any lower and the pressure'll crush them before they can detonate. Our sub's crush depth, since the modifications, is one-thousand feet." Lightoller nodded.

"Excellent." At that moment, the alarm klaxon went off and crewmen ran to their posts for combat. The sonar officer looked to the Captain.

"Sir, we are clear of the fleet. Request permission to start active sonar." Lightoller nodded.

"Permission granted, all engines ahead flank. XO, set us on course for the inlet. Navs, ETA?"

"Estimated time to arrival... thirty minutes."

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The engines kept sputtering and coughing. The damaged gauges jumped all over the place. Add to all this the constant screaming of people in the back who were unaccustomed to flying who felt every little bump and thought they were about to fall from the sky and it was a wonder Kaleb's hair didn't turn white under his flight cap. Aside from the civilians, he also had a few members of the church who, despite being 'excommunicated' kept preaching and speaking against Mechanos. He also had several wounded soldiers and officers who had been ready to enjoy their last meals before being marched to the firing squad for various offenses.

His wing had already broken off from the escort to deal with some Loyalist fighters who, once they heard what was going on, had come up to claim the kill of a transport loaded with defectors and traitors. Up until about eight minutes ago, the radio had been alive with transmissions from his wing.

Now all that was heard from his wing's frequency was static.

He responded from a tap from his copilot, Erik Harris, a civilian airline pilot, a switched radio frequencies to the Syllian radio.

"This is Ritter. I need that escort I... I've just lost my entire squadron and the number two engine is dead." Kaleb suppressed an involuntary cringe when his Father's voice all but exploded over the radio.

_"KD, hang on! I'm almost there!"_ Suddenly, one of the defecting soldiers was there.

"We've got company. Three fighters closing in." KD nodded and flipped the radio.

"Alright everyone, get back to your seats and fasten your seatbelts this is going to get bumpy." He turned back to his copilot.

"Harris, try to restart engine two, and push engines four and three, see if we can get some extra power out of them and... uh... hang on tight." Harris saw Kaleb shift in his seat to where he could better grasp the stick, holding it like a fighter pilot would and he blanched.

"Kaleb, this is a _damaged_ TpS290. _Any_ kind of aerobatics in this kind of aircraft could tear it apart! It's a four-engined transport the size of a small house, not a single-engine barnstormer!" Kaleb smiled.

"I know that! But I also know that these kinds of aircraft are usually subjected to tests that no other aircraft is because of the job it is meant to fulfill. It's a multi-engine, yes, but it's also a solid steel construction with a rivetted frame. If I can fly through a gale force storm, I'm pretty sure I can at least perform some basic evasive maneuvers. Now, if you're not going to help me control this beast then go and sit with the rest of the passengers!" Harris paused, then nodded and gripped the controls.

"All passengers, brace for evasive maneuvers!"

Kaleb sighed with relief as he heard the second engine backfire and rev up. This was going to be a lot easier with four pieces-of-crap engines then two and a half pieces-of-crap engines. Then, another soldier came in, a smile on his face.

"I found a machinegun in the back storage area! I think I can lash it to that blister in the tail!" Kaleb nodded and then keyed the radio.

"Ritter to Black Knight, one of our passengers found a machinegun and is setting up the tailgun position. We have three fighters closing fast, I'm going to try and evade them."

_"Copy. We're almost there."_

Before Kaleb replied the buzzsaw report of the machinegun echoed through the plane and the radio in the tail section came on.

_"I know this is supposed to be a civilian airliner but apparently it was also made to go to war if needed. I gave one of our pursuers a faceful of 7.92mm! Man, these Matchsticks are amazing!"_ Kaleb looked to see Harris' face and nodded.

"Matchstick is the slang term for the MG29. It's a long barrel, a narrow reciever, with a thin stock, grip, and trigger. Pull the fabric belt and the first round through and the firing action pulls the linked belt the rest of the way as it's fired. Cheap, easy, effective, and one helluva rate of fire." Harris grimaced.

"Well, now that they know we have a tailgun, where will they come now?"

"From above or below. Alright. Tailgunner, hang on back there!"

_"Oh I'm hanging alright! Got one coming from high left and other from below right I can't get a bead on neither!"_ Kaleb cursed and looked to Harris.

"On my signal, we start right... Ready? _NOW!_"

Kaleb and Harris turned both control wheels hard right, starting the large, cumbersome aircraft on a roll to the right. The blue and black horizon ball slowly rolled from a slight tilt to a vertical line and then inverted. Screams from the back roared through as the plane rolled and Kaleb vaguely wondered what the hostile pilots were thinking, seeing a four engine transport barrel-rolling through the air.

The report of the Matchstick and a whoop through the radio got his attention as the plane finished the roll and returned to level flight.

_"Tailgunner reporting! Damaged one of the pursuers. I swear the guy was gaping like a fish and flew right into my sights! By the way, good guys are here! They finished off the wounded bird and the last one is in full retreat."_ Kaleb hurriedly switched the radio over.

_"Ritter! Are you crazy?! Here we are flying to escort you and you're inverted trying to dodge a few stragglers?! I swear you're just as crazy as your old man! Dieter! You're flying straight, you haven't had a heart attack have you?" _There was a cough from the radio.

_"No but I damn near did. And what the hell do you mean 'crazy as your old man'? I'll admit it wasn't the first thing I'd do to evade an attacker but, hey, when you have lemons.."_

"You make lemonade. Good grief Black Knight, keep using Mom's phrases and I'll start to think you care."

_"I __**do**__ care, son. I just... look, let's not do this now. Wait until we get to the ship."_

"Yes, sir. Alright Harris, let's bring her back on course and stop scaring our passengers. Black Knight, please escort us to the _Leviathan_."

"_That's the idea_."

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Kronan levelled out as the fighter came at him again. This one, like the last, had blindly followed him through the rising smoke from the battle below and didn't notice another fighter come down behind him until he was under attack. As he gazed below, the monolithic warships that went down by the stern or bow had the opposite area lift out of the water. The _Juggernaut_, the Titan-class that Kronan had attacked, was currently burning as the bow section stood straight up as it slowly went down. The hulls of other warships including one carrier, and two more Titan-class battleships littered the water.

He gazed about and studied the columns of smoke swirling around the air and sighed.

"It's almost over. Damn, what a waste." Samson echoed the sentiment.

"Look! I think the rest of the fleet is turning away! They aren't surrendering but at least the hostilities have ceased." Kronan angled over and saw that, indeed, the remaining vessels of the Loyalist Rotarian Navy began deploying thick smokescreens and turning away from the United Fleet. Of the six Titan-class battleships that had been in battle, three were sunk, one had defected, and the remaining two were so severely damaged they were barely underway. None of the three carriers had survived, and only one battlecruiser had managed to escape (somewhat) unscathed.

The Rotarian defectors were already swinging into a group formation on the extreme left of the other vessels. Then, on a hunch, he flipped the radio to the Syllian frequency.

"This is Kronan, enemy fleet is in full retreat. Requesting permission to return to base."

_"Negative! The _Olympia_ has just departed to engage a second fleet coming up from the south! Return to the carrier to rearm and refuel and then sortie again! This battle an't over yet, the enemy still has some life in them!"_ Kronan cursed and ordered his group back into formation.

"What about that transport? Has it landed yet?"

_"They're almost here. They'll be landing ahead of you._"

"Copy that. Returning to rearm."

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Captain Lightoller gazed through the periscope and nodded at what he saw. He then relinquished the scope to the XO who whistled as he caught sight of the fleet.

"Damn. That's a lot of escorts for so small a fleet. Wonder why they're risking this?" Lightoller looked at the sea chart and nodded.

"They think the main fleet will divert to deal with the larger threat, thus leaving the carriers and smaller escorts behind and vulnerable. They assume that, like most carriers, the _Leviathan_ and the others are lightly armored and armed and unable to defend themselves in a straight up fight. However, having depth charged your previous sub, they are bound to be on the alert for more subs. That would likely be the only reason they are proceeding at such a slow pace."

"Well sir, what do we do?" Lightoller gazed at the crew and then to the sea chart.

"Sonar, depth under keel." The young sonar operator turned to him and checked his notes.

"Depth last checked five minutes ago... no change, depth under keel is eight-hundred and sixty-seven feet."

"XO, sound general quarters, notify the rocket compartments to begin launch procedures. Also notify forward torpedo room to ready a defensive spread, we may have to defend ourselves once we start launching the rockets. All engines stop, hold our depth."

"Captain, rocket compartments reporting all gyros set and ready." Lightoller nodded.

"XO, how many surface targets?" The XO swiveled the periscope, silently counting the number of surface vessels. Twice, he looked away to the nearby recognition book and confirmed it.

"I count one battlecruiser, three Schrecken-class cruisers, three Schmerz-class cruisers, eight Kreuz-class heavy destroyers and twelve Fury-class destroyers. All in all, seven capital ships and twenty escorts." Lightoller looked to him.

"Actually more than that. The Schmerz cruisers are specially modified to launch patrol boats. E-boats, we call them. Each cruiser holds four E-boats and each E-boat is capable of speeds of fifty miles per hour, is armed with two anti-air guns, six torpedoes, and a depth charge rack." The XO grimaced.

"So add twelve of these E-boats to the escort count. How fast can the cruisers launch them?"

"If they're on alert, maybe five minutes. It depends on how fast the crews can get to their boats and how fast the davitmen can lower them."

"Do they have powered davits or manual?" Lightoller actually chuckled.

"Manual. Mechanos believed that a man of the sea had to be a hard man and that anything that made their jobs easier was a 'luxury'. His thoughts were more in line with the old guard, the flag admirals who hadn't set foot on a ship since they made post. He cares little for the serving line unless they are victorious." At that moment, a red-faced radioman came running up with a report in hand.

"Sir, our radio just recieved word that the primary enemy force is retreating. The aircraft are returning to the carrier to rearm and should be here soon." Lightoller smiled and nodded.

"Alright, notify the launchers to ready rockets one through ten. Target the battlecruiser and the other captial ships. When the escorts start to close, fire a full spread to scatter them and crash dive."

The mechanical sound of the rocket hatches opening echoed through the sub and Lightoller gave a nod to the FCO who nodded back.

"Fire rockets one through ten with seven second intervals. On my mark... fire one!"

Through the periscope, Lightoller saw the first rocket breach the surface as the compressed air launched it from the sub. The trailing wire ignited the engine and broke away, sending it upwards towards the first target on the list, the battlecruiser. The chronometer ticked by and seven seconds after the first launch, the second was away.

The rockets were in the midst of launching when a loud, high-pitched _'PING_' reverberated from the sub. The sonar operator turned to Captain Lightoller.

"We've been pinged! Three escorts closing at high speed!" The PA system followed.

_"Captain, last rocket is away! Sealing the hull and closing the hatches."_

"Torpedo room, target those hostile escorts and open all outer doors!" He then went back to the periscope.

"Set spread to five degree separation, high speed, set depth to seven feet, shallow. Fire when ready." The radio came on.

_"Torpedoes ready! Firing one through eight with five degree separation!"_ There was a rapid whoosh as compressed air blew the torpedoes out of the tubes and into open water. Through the periscope, Lightoller could see the ships already attempting to evade both the rockets and torpedoes and then turned to the XO.

"Down periscope, all ahead flank, crash dive!" Lightoller grabbed a rail to steady himself as the engines lurched and the sub began to dive at a steep forty-degree angle. In the galley, he chuckled as one of the mess crew swore as an unsecured rack of plates broke open and showered porcelain all over the stove and the sink.

_(Maybe I should look into replacing the porcelain with those metal trays... less noisy...)_

He gazed at the depth gauge and saw the needle fly past the three-hundred foot mark. He gave a reassuring nod to the crew and gazed at his chronometer. The second hand slowly ticked by and he glanced at the sonar station every once in a while. Then, the operator looked up and smiled.

"I have explosions in the water! Four torpedoes have hit marks, I hear two ships breaking up! Hold on... splashes... depth charges... damn... they're dropping them all over the place." Lightoller looked to the depth gauge and grimaced at the depth:

450 feet. Still within range of the charges.

The sonar operator suddenly blanched and looked to him.

"Captain, I just heard a cluster splash. I think they just fired a Porcupine." Lightoller cursed.

The UDM60, aka 'Porcupine', was a ship mounted, multi-launch 60mm mortar that fired twelve rounds in a fan formation that could sink to a maximum depth of 700 feet before detonating with enough force to crush a submarine. Ironically, this anti-sub weapon was copied from the Praetorian 'Hedgehog' weapon. Lightoller turned to the sailors manning the dive planes.

"Maximum dive! Open all ballast tanks! Take us all the way to the bottom!" The sailor at the Yule tree opened six valves and flipped a few switches and a louder _whoosh_ fill the sub. Then, suddenly, an alarm blared getting Lightoller's attention. He turned to see that four of the lights on the Yule tree were now red while the others were green. The sailor manning the position looked to him.

"The rear-most ballast tanks are still closed! They won't open or respond to automatic command!"

"Then bypass it, open them manually!" The sailor nodded and shouted to make a hole as he ran for the stern compartments. As Lightoller turned back around, another alarm went off.

"Now what?" The radio came on.

_"Captain! Someone just ran into the forward rocket bay! I didn't see who but his uniform was NOT from that area! I... my God! We have a malfunction in one of the Klasse 2 rockets! Wait... no! It's not a malfuntion! Whoever it is is trying to access the self-detonation failsafe!"_ Lightoller cursed and looked to the COB.

"Open the armory and send a group to the forward bay, _NOW! _XO, you have the Con. You men going with me, take care, most things in that compartment don't react too well to bullets." The XO rolled his eyes at that comment and stepped up to the Con as the COB handed Lightoller a sidearm. Lightoller turned and looked at the depth gauge once more before turning to head to the rocket compartment.

"Well, here's hoping nothing goes wrong."

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The rocket compartment of the _Olympia_ was not like the rest of the sub. Pipes lined the hull and large cylindrical tubes housed the rockets that the sub could fire. Captain Lightoller and the men with him had entered the chamber, however, just in case the saboteur tried to sneak out, he posted two men at the entrance and then set the others about clearing the compartment section by section. He however, on a hunch, went forward into the area marked by yellow and black signs warning of radioactive materials.

Hearing something up ahead, he readied his sidearm and wondered who would have been crazy enough to attempt to detonate a nuclear-tipped rocket _inside_ the submarine. It would have been suicide to do so as the explosion would have incinerated the ship and all aboard it. As he neared rocket 73, one of the farthest rockets in the compartment, he caught a glimpse of someone fiddling with something. Lightoller leveled his weapon and pulled the hammer back, making a sharp 'click'.

"Step away from the rocket. Now." He eased around and caught full view of the saboteur and swore.

"Why is it always the damn cook? Step. Away. NOW!"

The saboteur, one of the cooks, held two wires. All he likely had to do was connect the wires for a spark and he would succeed in destroying the sub. He knew this and smirked and his hands twitched to connect the wires.

Lightoller fired three rounds.

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The crew of the _Leviathan _had been busy getting people below decks and trying to shove the now useless transport off the flight deck when the flight had returned. Now they were away and heading for the location of the enemy fleet when the radio came alive with a broadcast from the _Olympia_.

_"This is Captain Lightoller of the _Olympia_. We have successfully routed the enemy and are returning to the fleet. We have sunk five capital ships, four escorts, and damaged three others. The fleet is secured."_ Josh sighed with relief and nodded to the air boss who keyed the radio for the planes.

"Attention all craft currently airborne, move to the _Olympia_ to escort her back. All other planes currently on the deck, stand down." Josh looked to Anne while the AB did this.

"Secure all crew from battlestations and send word to Royalis: Tellanian front is now secure. All objectives met and completed. Silver griffon Ayura safely on board. Have also secured the defection of multiple Rotarian forces including aircraft, naval vessels and land forces."

He then looked down to the deck and saw an amazing sight. A young woman, not much older than Anne, was running across the flight deck and embraced Kronan with such momentum both of them pivoted. Kronan's face was at first shock, then joy and they stopped and then kissed on the flight deck, much to the amusement of the deck crew.

Josh couldn't help but chuckle when Kronan caught sight of the onlookers and barked something that looked like 'As you were' or some other sort of embarrassed order. Then, on the far side, his breath caught. There was Dieter, and in front of him was a woman he guessed was his wife, his son, and his daughter. His son obviously was a young adult since he was flying a military transport. His daughter looked to be perhaps three years younger and, unlike her brother, gazed at her father with a mixture of relief to see him and love.

The boy's expression though was stoic but also somewhat bitter. As he turned away to head to his quarters, he silently wished Dieter luck.

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There hadn't been much time between the transport landing and then being unceremoniously shoved off the fantail and Dieter's group landing and then Kronan's group. To be honest, he had been preparing to sortie when the stand down order was issued. He found himself standing on the flight deck, watching his fighter being lowered into the hangar when suddenly he heard three sets of feet approaching from behind.

He turned, and came face to face with his wife and children. He mentally cursed himself that he had missed so many years. When he had left to join the volunteers heading for Callinar, his son was four and his daughter was barely eight months old. He had joined because the pay for a pilot was six times that he made as a farmer and rancher selling crops and raising dairy cows. It was never supposed to be anything more than a short stint but he found, once he was in the air, he loved the feeling. The excitement of flight.

A four year stint turned into eight, which turned into ten, which became a position as an instructor and that left less and less time for family until finally his wife decided she had had enough and had that one big fight all those years ago. They'd never officially divorced but that was mainly because Dieter had always held that small flicker of hope that one day everything would straighten itself out. That and the fact he left the entire ranch to her and always sent her three quarters of his paycheck to help with the finances.

To be honest, he had hoped his kids would have decided to go to college but judging by the Rotarian black and grey flight uniform his son wore, apparently that wasn't the case. He stood there, looking at his son almost as if he was a complete stranger. If it hadn't been for the shock of black hair, vibrant hazel eyes, and that small scar under his right eye, (which he recalled was from when a raven had attacked him once when he was out in the field) he would not have recognized him.

With the exception of his eyes, which he got from his mother, there was no doubt to anyone that Kaleb was Dieter's son. A fact that had likely gotten him many chances and opportunities but, to his knowledge, Kaleb had never accepted any of them. Funny thing was that he'd been working on something to say in the event he saw his family again. He just wasn't expecting to meet them at this particular time.

Nor was he expecting the sudden right cross that his son had evidentally been wanting to show him for _quite_ some time.

Dieter stumbled back but a lifetime of balancing had kicked in and he caught himself just in time to wave off the two sailors who had seen this and were running for Kaleb. His daughter had opened her mouth to protest but Kaleb silenced her with a glance. Dieter looked to his daughter and nodded and straightened up.

"I deserved that. Nice punch KD." Kaleb was still frowning but it relinquished for a small smile at the end before returning to a frown.

"Damn right you did. And even more than that. Just... where the hell do you get off abandoning us with the exception of a damn letter and a paycheck every month? Then you become a big hero, we get invited to an award ceremony and then the very next day you leave for Syllia and leave us to deal with the repurcussions! Do you have _any_ idea what those damn Loyalists did to us?!" Kaleb looked to him, eyes wanting to give way to tears but he held them back.

"I was an officer, believe it or not, a Second Lieutenant. They busted me to Sergeant and removed me from post because I was 'at risk' for flying off after you. They came to the house, confiscated everything, the land, the cattle, the horses, and sold it piecemeal to several high ranking Loyalists who demolished the whole damn place and turned it into a damn officer's resort! When they realized that they couldn't break the horses to use them for their own purposes, they shot them and fed them to those damn dread griffons." Dieter involuntarily shuddered. Despite being a pilot, he had grown up a farmer, a rancher, he knew the value of a properly trained horse and inwardly he burned with anger that horses that had been a part of the family mercilessly shot. Kaleb didn't give him a chance to recover and dropped the other shoe.

"It didn't stop there. They shipped Mom and Bee to an internment camp somewhere in the far north. Took me until a month ago to find them and then until yesterday to work up the courage to defect." Dieter turned his gaze from his son to his wife and daughter who silently nodded. Dieter visually sagged where he stood and propped himself up beside the rail to steady himself, his face going pale with horror. He then turned his gaze back to his son.

"All this time... I thought I was doing the right thing... I didn't think Mechanos was evil. That day over Lavonshire... that was what opened my eyes to the danger he posed to us all. A man mad enough to use such a terrifying weapon just because he can is a monster. I honestly never thought they'd go after you and your Mom and sister. If I had..." He glanced to see Kaleb's fist tighten but then he glanced to his wife and daughter.

"If I had known what would happen, I would have grabbed all three of you and would have taken you with me. All these years... I thought I was afraid of losing my wings... I should have been more afraid of losing you all." Kaleb's frown deepened.

"You left when I was four and when Bee was still in diapers. How the hell could you care when you were never _there_?! You lost us the day you volunteered for that damn 'mission' in Callinar!"

"If I could take back anything... anything at all, I would never have volunteered that day-" At that moment, his wife, Maria, came forward a small smile on her face.

"Don't say that Dieter. You were always a man who liked a challenge. You saw flying as another way to challenge yourself. Sure, you went a little overboard but... if you had to take back one thing, it should be that you were never home enough. I may not have said it that day when we had our last fight but... I _missed_ you. The only reason you came home that day was because you had injured your legs in that rough landing."

Dieter remembered that crash. He'd spent the whole day trying to find a recruit who'd gotten lost on a training patrol and later found the kid spread all across a mountainside. He'd tried to fly through a high-altitude storm and wound up breaking both wings off his plane. By the time Dieter got back to base, the same storm was over the airfield and a sudden downdraft had pushed the plane down, forcing Dieter to make a belly landing which had fractured both heels and femurs.

"I remember that I spent the entire time on sick leave training and getting myself back into shape so that I could pass the fitness eval. Two months... longest time I was home since I volunteered, yet, at the same time I might as well have been a hundred miles away. The day I was cleared to return to duty was the day we fought." Maria nodded.

"We both said things that day that we wish we hadn't. But never regret volunteering that day. It was why I fell in love all those years ago. You came riding into town on your old quarterhorse, Buster. You were wearing that ratty old trenchcoat that flapped in the breeze." She giggle for a moment remembering and then looked back at her husband.

"You looked like one of those gunfighters from the cinema movies, riding in to drink hard, bust some heads, have a good old time, and then ride off into the sunset. It was the way you challenged life that made me fall for you, and the way you enjoyed it. The thing that made me fight that day was that you were too damn stubborn to stop for a minute. You were so eager to get back into a plane you forgot that that day was Bee's birthday." Dieter gave her a stunned expression.

"It was?" Maria nodded.

"Damn... It seems I owe a lot of apologies... some of which I'm afraid won't cut it. But... if you'll let me, I'd like to make up for them." Maria embraced him warmly.

"All I ever wanted was to spend time with you, just like we used to. I missed riding with you along the fields more than anythng else." Dieter smiled.

"My riding skills, I'm afraid, are a little rusty. I may not be as good as I once was." She laughed and behind her, Bee chuckled.

"Well, once the war's over we'll have all the time in the world. You know, Bee actually won the Gasdin Award for best female rider. She could probably teach _you_ a few things." Dieter looked to Bee and she nodded, he smiled. Kaleb however, still frowned.

"Mom and Bee were never that angry with you. I... I suppose there's no reason to... dammit, I need a drink." Maria looked at him sternly.

"Kaleb Dieter Muntz, you are too young to drink!" Kaleb groaned.

"In Rotiart I am!" Bee chuckled.

"KD, you're not in Rotiart, you're on a _Syllian_ vessel. If I recall, you have to be twenty-one to drink." Kaleb groaned and started to turn away when he heard someone laughing.

"Kaleb? Your name's Kaleb?" Kaleb turned, an undeniable glint of pride in his eyes.

"It's my Dad's name, you got a problem with it?" The sailor shook his head but kept the smile.

"Hell no. It's a good name." He held his hand out which Kaleb grasped and nodded and headed inside. Moments later, the ship's engines started and the PA came on.

_"Attention all hands, this is XO Roberts. We have been ordered to return to Syllia along with the _Retemed_ and a few vessels from the Rotarian fleet. As we are now filled with Rotarian pilots and civilians we are no longer able to safely engage in combat situations. We will return to Southport, offload the civilians, and then we shall be returning to the front after debriefing and a few days leave. We will be shadowed by the _Olympia_. That is all."_ Dieter heaved a sigh and rested an arm over his wife and daughter's shoulders.

"Well love, you always said home's where you make it. How about making a home in Royalis? At least until the war's over." Maria looked to him.

"But aren't you attached to the carrier force?" Dieter shook his head.

"No. I'm with the Launces First Air Wing under Major Bertram de Launces. Chances are, once we get back, I and my squadron will be transferred back to Royalis to rejoin our group. I'd like for you and Bee and Kaleb to join me, maybe I can put in a word with him and get Bertram to request him assigned to us." Maria sighed but nodded slowly.

"Time heals all wounds but Kaleb's run deeper than most. I don't like that he'll be going back into danger but... I'll feel better knowing that he was closer to you, although that may not be the case with him. I think he'd rather be as far from you as possible." Dieter nodded just as a landing bell rang and Dieter looked to see a Tullinar jet touching down on the _Leviathan_. Before he could make a move, the canopy popped open and Reyson Havvers leapt from the plane and landed on the deck and stretched his arms out and smiled.

"This ship headed for South Port? I hope ya'll don't mind if I add one more to the tally." Dieter laughed at Havvers as he proceeded to walk to the hatch all the while singing a few phrases of an old 'going home' song. Despite the tension that still hung over the ship, Dieter found himself humming along as the song was picked up by the crewmen on deck.

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Whew! Well, after one long absense, I finally caught up and now I give you the next chapter! The third front is established and the silver griffon is safely on her way to Syllia. As for me, well, I'll have to slog my way through the election before I can update again but trust me, I shall return!

As always, please review.

Next Chapter: Resistance: Fight (for) Power!


	58. Fight (for) Power!

Well guys, the election is over and now we are at the Fall Fest. Taking a break from making lunch plates to catch up with you guys. Man... I swear the barbeque gets better every year. Our resident EMT/ logistics and comms officer managed to get a trailer load of hickory wood for the grill. Slap on some of the Ballard family recipe seasons and spices and you have one of the most satisfying plate lunches in the state.

It's your choice of chicken or sausage, or both, add to that homemade potato salad, baked beans with bacon, coleslaw, a warm roll, and a cold soft drink or sweet tea and the plate is complete.

Well, I hope you guys enjoy the chapter, in the meanwhile I've got to get back to the group. I've gotta flip the chicken and sausage. People are filing into the station and that means that people are getting hungry.

Also, again I got long-winded so I'm splitting the chapter again. Sorry.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 57: Resistance: Fight (for) Power

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It had been three weeks.

Three weeks since they had breached the aqueducts and gained entrance to the 'new' city.

Three weeks since Caldor and Zafra led a successful attack on yet another Rotarian V1/V2 installation.

Three weeks since Jahser, one of the brightest members of the Partisans, led a disasterous attempt against a Rotarian patrol near the old Koln Manufacturing Plant. Out of sixteen men and women, three escaped alive, four captured, the rest, including Jahser, killed.

Three weeks since Doctor Francois Mezzanie, the only original member of the original Syllian resistance during the Federation War, suffered a massive heart attack and passed away. His replacement, a hastily trained former combat medic who was more used to what was deemed 'meatball surgery', was a poor replacement for the good doctor. Still, he managed to keep the Partisans patched up and combat ready. Small mercies.

George walked around the lower level of the old church in the outer city that had become their new base of operations. The Mill remained a Resistance safehouse but most of the Partisans preferred to remain in or near the old aqueducts so that they could move around the city easier. Caldor and Zafra were currently denned up in the large cistern helping to organize crews to unblock old tunnels to access more of the city. He impatiently checked his watch and silently swore an oath which he immediately (and guiltily) glanced to the priest who had opened his church to the Resistance. The elderly priest simply nodded.

"I understand your impatience Nick. To be quite honest, I'm running out of it myself. I had hoped that the meeting with that Wolf's Den group wouldn't have lasted very long." George nodded and glanced at the tunnel entrance leading to the north part of the city.

Wolf's Den, one of six other Partisan groups in this art of the city. They were small, cautious, and not oftentimes impulsive. The most notable thing they had done was when they had infiltrated an OAC post and killed several members by putting a super-strength laxative in the food and then dynamiting the toilets.

Funny thing was that, while the Rotarians knew it was explosives, a captured report said that 'smoking whilst in the presense of large volumes of methane gas' was just as likely a culprit as explosives. Needless to say no one believed _THAT_ but it nevertheless became a joke among the Resistance.

One popular varient was: 'How many Rotarians does it take to clear out a building?'

The answer: Twelve to turn on the gas and one to strike a match.

Though the Partisans seldomly took big risks, the opportunity to shake up te occupiers and rattle their nerves was a constant mission. Hazard had rigged up so many pipe bombs, thermite charges, grenade bouquets, landmines, 'sewer specials' and 'sober-ups' that to say the enemy was jumpy was an understatement.

According to one spy who had been in a military office, the commanding officer had told his clerks and subordinates to dunk any and all letters, packages, and parcels for him in water sixteen times before presenting them to him. Another officer was so rattled he refused to leave his office. He had a waste basket that was his toilet, his meals were brought to him by the same private every day, any paperwork requiring his signature or stamp of approval was to be slid under the door, and he had eight men armed with chopped machineguns guarding his officer 24/7.

It wasn't the most honorable type of combat, working on an enemies nerves, but after seeing the OAC order the roundup and subsequent execution of twenty-six people rumored to have been Partisans or sympathetic to them, George decided that honor was no longer a parameter for them. The Rotarians were fighting dirty, so would the Resistance. Like the old saying: Set a thief to catch a thief.

Or more aptly: No honor amongst thieves.

A map of the city was spread before him. It didn't fail to make him uneasy, seeing how many white marks there were as compared to black marks. White was the mark for the occupation or the OAC, black marks were for Resistance positions, safehouses, and points of interest. He felt a surge of anger at the lone red 'X's on the map. These marked the destroyed northwest tower of the castle and the inner city cathedral that had been partially demolished by the tower collapse and then purposefully collapsed by the OAC and Rotarian demolition crews as they searched for an entrance to the Workshop.

Not that it would do them any good. A few nights ago, George had 'come across' a key to the old underground tunnel that served as a bolt hole for the Workshop. He and a team of eight, including Zafra and Hazard, made it to the facility and, thanks to a 'bingo book' the OSS had transmitted to them, gathered whatever blueprints and prototypes listed as vital intelligence, then dismantled and burned what was left.

A few of the blueprints, such as the chemical 'recipe' for a special explosive called 'Dragonfire', designs for adaptors to allow for any weapon, even a rifle, to be suppressed, the original blueprints for the old canal system, as well as instructions for making a small, concealable, single-shot anti-tank launcher and the molds needed to cast such pieces.

Hazzard was already working with Miles to get the first batch of these 'Armored Fists' made and in circulation. The Dragonfire had already been employed successfully against a fuel depot in the southeast sector as well as destroying the remains of the transport that had crashed in the city come time ago.

The crew of the plane, sadly, had been executed one day after the drop and their bodies hung from lampposts near the wreck. These were removed and, due to the fact that there was no nearby graveyard, placed in the wrecked aircraft before the Dragonfire cannisters were lit. The information regarding their fates relayed back to Royalis via the comms network.

When, for the twenty-eighth time in three hours, the power to the lower levels started dimming, George swore and then gazed back at the map of the city.

These brownouts were the direct result of the emergency shutdown of one of the power plants inside the city. The occupation didn't know a damn thing about crystal generators and, as a result, one of the dynamos came dangerously close to overheating and self-destructing. Only a quick thinking engineer managed to shut down the plant, thus saving the facility and the people within.

Now that one of the two primary sources of electricity was compromised, the city was put on an electricity curfew to conserve power while the Rotarian eggheads tried to decypher what went where and how this or that worked. Apparently, just being 'the occupation' wasn't enough to get the more technical minded individuals to divulge what they knew about Launces' revolutionary power sources. Threats and extortion gathered about the same, more people clammed up than before.

In fact, given the hazardous nature of the crystal generators and their own individual querks, George had been more afraid that people would tell falsehoods or cross references. Thankfully, people had enough sense that, failing the truth, to not even think about giving misinformation. As had been demonstrated, the enemy's lack of knowledge made the power plants even more dangerous than normal. While the people of Launces volunteered nothing, they didn't lie about anything either.

The OAC continued their 'interrogations' of certain people of interest but, the standard Army was of the opinion to 'let sleeping dragons lie'.

Outside the city, near the lake, there were three hydroelectric power plants. Though never officially shut down and decommissioned, the plants had been all but abandoned when the newer, more efficient, crystal power generators were built and installed, replacing the older anthracite coal-powered plants. This was the reason for the visit to the Wolf's Den.

Rumor had it that one of the key leaders of the group was the former foreman of HydroPlant No.2 and that a few of his group members were workers from Plant No.3. George was of the opinion that if they could get the old power plants working, they could restore functionality to the city. It would have been a boon for them but it was also for a good cause. The OAC had been attempting to cut power to the Ramatalia Memorial Hospital in the north side of the city in an effort to 'coerce' cooperation from people by ensuring their loved ones currently admitted would continue to recieve the care they needed.

By reactivating the plants, the Resistance could ensure the power to the hospital and also reduce the load on the sole remaining crystal plant. Also, the power input comparison would be almost negligable on the gauges. Of course the OAC would raise a red flag but for the most part, a six percent increase in power produced wouldn't raise any eyebrows.

A joint venture between Wolf's Den and the Partisans to restore power to the hospital was just the sort of thing the Resistance needed to perhaps get the chance to start unifying the seperate cells into one larger Resistance. George had already worked out six different plans of attack in the event that the Wolf's Den decided to merge with the Partisans. There was a lot near the NE Industrial that the Rotarians were using as a holding area for tanks and other vehicles the OAC was repurposing for their use.

Of course tanks were few and far between. The majority of captured vehicles were Leopold ATCs, Elicord Armored Cars, Lawson Steam Runners, and Deucer Tranport trucks. Still, he had been in contact with General Samuel Montague who, by reputation, was a former instructor at the Academy being held on suspicion of having contact within the Resistance. Though the General was under house arrest, his students, being young and wily, were not and were in constant contact and acting as go-betweens.

The General had said that if the Resistance could get them vehicles, he could guarantee armored support from his students and the remaining academy staff when they moved to retake Launces. The General had been a hero in both the Federation War as an artilleryman and then in the Dalon Conflict as a tank commander, recording somewhere close to sixty hostile tanks destroyed or disabled and made headlines for single-handedly holding a portion of the line in Avalar that had collapsed while James and others led the more famous 'island hopping' campaign.

Furthermore, there was Colonel Edward Falcyion, a former horse cavalryman who had pledged his entire unit (the decommissioned 8th Launces Cavalry) to the Resistance when the time was right. He was an old man, nearing his eighties, who could still ride a horse like a young man of twenty, still be accurate enough to perfectly shoot a hole, dead-center, through six silver pieces in mid-air, and inspire confidence in even the most pessimistic of soldiers. Back in the Federation War, he had been remembered for telling his frightened men that: 'The only thing to fear was fear itself'.

To emphasize this, he had risen from the trench they were in, riding crop in hand (the symbol of a high-ranking officer) and walked back an forth on the line preaching to his men while bullets struck the ground around him as Federation riflemen tried to pick him off at a distance. When he had returned to the trench, one of the men had pointed to him and he removed his hat to see that a bullet had gone cleanly through and not harmed a hair on his head. This, of course, circulated through the ranks like wildfire and emboldened the men to perform a feat worthy of legend.

In two hours, six hundred men of the United 5th, 6th, and 9th Cavalries charged the ranks of five-thousand Federation infantry in the battle to retake Three Points Pass and Headbashedin which had fallen in the first days of the war. The Federation, disheartened by the news of Launces being recaptured and their forces on Callen's Hill being cut off, broke ranks and ran, giving up the pass and the outpost without a shot fired.

Another contact the Partisans had befriended through the Wolf's Den was a mechanic named Barnabus Sonone. The man was a former Universal Racing Champion, having won the Bronze, Silver, Gold, and Platinum trophies in both Steam Runner competitions and automobile races in 1923, 1924, 1926, and 1928. His garage housed not only his prized Runner, the Silver Bullet (No. 26); but also his custom-built Aulto V12 Supercharger, the Black Stallion (No. 14).

He had been forced to quit racing after an accident in 1929. When testing out a new vehicle, he lost control and went into the wall at 100+, suffering severe injuries and crushing his legs. Like George's deceased uncle Jacopo, the legend was now confined to a wheelchair but refused to let it dampen his spirits. He changed from a racer to a mechanic and was known pre-war as making some of the best damn custom racers in the nation.

The most common one-liner was: 'If it hasn't been touched by Barnabus Sonone, it don't belong on the track.'

He had also actually been responsible for putting together a fund for racers similarly injured while competing in the sport they loved. He had also been one of the first to actually start racing other racers in wheelchairs and created a small, but popular, sport to raise people's spirits and, admittedly, was the only man crazy enough to fit a small crystal-powered engine to his wheelchair.

The day he had tested it out, people across Launces thought he had gone nuts, seeing him zoom down Central Avenue in a motorized wheelchair going over 50 mph, steering only by shifting his body weight back and forth. He had been lucky that traffic hadn't been thick.

Lastly, there was Gordon Calawai. Not much was known about him except that he had no love for the Rotarians and was known to most Resistance cells as a one-man wrecking crew. He favored high explosives, heavy weapons, and sharp-edged weaponry. He was what most termed a freelancer and would often undertake missions by himself. No one knew why but they assumed that he didn't like the idea of having to worry about others or that he feared having someone die under his command.

The man was secretive, no one knew his past, whether he had served in the military or not, yet he carried himself with distinct authority and discipline. Though his loyalty was unquestionable, many disdained and despised him.

As the clock came to about 7:25 p.m., the hatch to the sewers opened and out came nine men, one of whom was Wallace, the man George had sent to the Wolf's Den, and following him was Colburn, the foreman and his eight workers. George came forward and shook their hands.

"Gentlemen, I thank you for meeting me on such short notice. I suppose that Wallace gave you the gist of the plan but allow me to inform you in full of what we are intending." He motioned to the map on the table.

"Now then, as you know, the OAC has been using the patients in the hospital, particularly those in critical care who rely on machines powered by electricity to survive, to try and coerce people into giving us up. Not to mention the other systems inside that rely on power to keep the building sterile and clean and free of airborne pathogens and illnesses."

"I have been informed through a nurse at the hospital that a newly arrived patient recently exhibited signs of an infectious disease known as Red Fever. I need not tell you the risks if the sterile room failed and we had an outbreak to deal with. The fallout from this would be catastrophic." The men respectfully remained silent and nodded although it was clear by the way they had blanched that this was news to them.

"Now, before I continue, know that publicly, the Occupation force is not condoning what the OAC is doing and would not intervene if their plans fell through. This is why I asked you here. You men have the knowledge neccessary to restart one of the hydroelectric power plants on the Blue River. We cannot risk restarting all three otherwise we could potentially raise a red flag with the Occupation." He gestured to the three plants in question.

"One power plant restarting and operating at ten percent power would be enough to satisfy the Occupation in believing that it's a small group of people simply trying to restore power to vital areas. It would also be enough to thwart the OAC's attempts and also ensure the sustainablilty of the sterile room in the hospital and allowing the building to remain fully functional."

"Now then, I have assembled a team to escort you men to HydroPlant No.2. Please inform the Quartermaster here if you need any special tools before we deploy for this. We will also have a group going with us that will take over control of the plant and allow you to get back to your group. They will need some training to do so. If there are no questions, you are dismissed. We depart at midnight."

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(Castle Launces)

TO GENERAL COMMANDER TERANCE LICHTER, ROTARIAN 32 ARMORED INFANTRY, LAUNCES OCCUPATION FORCE.

NEW FRONT IN FEDERATION TERRITORY HAS BEEN OPENED BY SYLLIAN AND ALLIED FORCES. HOWEVER, THE ENEMY IS WEAK IN THIS AREA AND WILL SOON BE DRIVEN INTO RETREAT. SENDING THE 22 SPECIAL CORPS TO ASSIST YOU IN SECURING THE CITY FROM PARTISAN THREATS.

REPORTS HAVE REACHED HQ ABOUT YOUR RELUCTANCE IN GREEN-LIGHTING THE OAC'S PREVENTATIVE MEASURES. YOU ARE HEREBY ORDERED TO CEASE BLOCKING THEM AND LET THEM DO THEIR JOB.

FURTHERMORE, SEVERAL SYLLIAN PLANES HAVE BEEN DROPPING FLYERS ACROSS THE FRONT LINES AND THE ENEMY HAS ALSO BEEN BROADCASTING RUMORS, LIES, AND OTHER FALSEHOODS THROUGH OUR RADIO CHANNELS. EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY, ALL MILITARY RADIO TRAFFIC IS TO BE COORDINATED THROUGH SECURE CHANNEL E9R4.

IF YOU HAPPEN TO HEAR THE ENEMY'S LIES, YOU ARE TO DISREGARD THEM. THEY ARE UTTER LIES TO TRY AND SOW DISENT AMONG LOYAL ROTARIAN SOLDIERS. ANY RANK AND FILE SOLDIER LISTENING TO THIS IS TO BE ARRESTED AND QUARTMARTIALED.

UNDER PENALTY OF DEATH, DO NOT DISOBEY YOUR ORDERS. YOU HAVE PROVEN YOURSELF A CAPABLE, IF COLORFUL, COMMANDER TIME AND AGAIN BUT FOR THE DURATION OF THE ACTIONS TO WHICH YOU ARE PRESENTLY ASSIGNED, YOU ARE TO OBEY ANY AND ALL ORDERS TO THE LETTER.

AS PER YOUR REQUEST, LIEUTENANT MASON CARMINE HAS BEEN REASSIGNED TO YOU AS AN AIDE FOLLOWING HIS RECOVERING FROM PNEUMONIA. I TRUST THAT HE WILL LEARN WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A REAL SOLDIER FROM HIS PEERS IN THIS THEATRE AND THAT SICKNESS IS NOT A LEGITIMATE EXCUSE FOR DISOBEDIANCE.

ALSO, EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY, AS YOU HAVE WORRIED ABOUT THE CITY UNDER BLACKOUT CONDITIONS, I HAVE SENT ORDERS FOR THE OAC TO BEGIN ASSISTING YOUR TROOPS IN THEIR PATROLS. FOLLOWING SOP, BEGIN CITY-WIDE BLACKOUTS BEGINNING AT 9:00 PM UNTIL 7:30 AM.

THIS INCLUDES MEDICAL FACILITIES.

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The castle library was quiet. Then again, it always was. With the servants all evacuated the entire castle seemed hollow and devoid of life with the exception of the Rotarian guards and the OAC officers trying to coordinate their efforts to fight the Resistance. The latest incident regarding the group known as 'Wolf's Den' had been particularly embarrassing. Not only were the Syllians laughing about it, but a number of the Rotarian soldiers who looked down on the OAC as cowardly and dishonorable also joked (though in secret).

General Commander Lichter was not a hard man by most accounts. He was lenient with the people as he understood that they were simply tryin gto make the best with the situation dealt to them. In truth, he sympathized with them and wished he could help them but his orders forbid it.

Plus there was the annoying lap dog Mechanos had forced him to cooperate with. If Lichter even mentioned in passing helping the people of Launces come to terms with their ordeal, Captain Terref would have had him before Mechanos before he could even blink an eye. And then likely _he_ would have been promoted and placed directly in charge of the occupation. He shuddered with a thought.

_(Plus, I just got my nephew transferred to me to him being used as leverage against me. Were she still living my sister would have had a cow if her son was used to influence my decisions.)_

At that moment, a young officer came up and handed him a piece of paper. After glancing at it, he handed the paper back to him and leaned close.

"Now then, what I want you to do is to take this letter back to the intel office and have them decypher the real meaning behind this." The young soldier looked to him curiously but, rather than questioning, turned and did as he was told. Lichter smiled as he took a drag from the cigar he had.

"Shame with how slow our communications are. I _really_ could have used that intel _before_ the Partisans decided to do it. Still, I suppose watching Terref sweat a little will be worth it. I can always get serious tomorrow. Besides, what the Partisans do _outside_ the city wall is none of my concern. My concerns all lay _within_ the city walls."

The intel had stated that the Partisans were believed to be planning an raid on one of the three old abandoned hydroelectric plants outside the city. Since the intel didn't specify which plant was under threat (plus the fact that, despite being an 'occupation force' Lichter only had roughly nine-hundred troops under his command and they were all occupied in vital roles already), It wasn't so much a case of letting the Partisans gain a victory as it was simply letting them have a win under the belt.

Plus the fact that the area outside the city was technically under OAC supervision meant it would have been Terref's ass in a sling instead of Lichter's. Politicians have their own little game, ranking soldiers have quite a different one. In the end it was the same goal though, cover your own bases and leave your opposite high and dry.

Silently Lichter wondered just how much of a fireworks display the Partisans were going to give this time. Personally, he hoped for quite a show. Then he remembered the letter and sighed as he turned to radio the teams at the power plant to begin blackout conditions.

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Caldor had silently left the lair and was now flying high through the night sky. Despite the warm air, he felt cold inside. Before the war, he would have felt pleasure at flying over the city, admiring the glow of the lights below. Now gazing at the city he felt nothing but anger at the enemy. It was as if the occupation forces were sucking the life out of the city. In the eastern side of the city he saw the castle, barely. The great spotlight that had once shined upon the clock tower at the front of the castle was dark, the great clock within stopped at precisely 11:59 the day the occupation had taken control of the castle.

His own experience told him that it was almost midnight. George, rather, Nick, would be taking the group through the tunnels, outside the wall, and sert them up at one of the power plants. One thing that amazed Caldor was how little importance the Rotarians placed on the three old hydro-electric plants. Still, there was a greater element of danger. The plants lay outside the walls, meaning they were at the full mercy of the OAC in the area. If something went wrong, it fell to him to pull the Partisans out of the fire.

His mind idly drifted back to Zafra, currently in human form with George and the others. He found himself thinking more of her now. Not just the way she talked but the way she laughed, moved, everything. He had opened up more to her than to anyone and she treated him with more respect than he had ever gotten from anyone. Still, it was impossible to ignore the dark looks he got from the Dragoons acting as ground crew. He knew that, had this happened before the war he would have laughed at it.

The Dracocorps Dragoons George liberated had been pleased to find out that there were still two dragons in Launces. Yet the difference between them was night and day. Zafra they all but completely fawned over, rushing to see to her every important or urgent need as a proper ground crew should. In fact, George had been afraid all the attention would have spoiled her but she kept her head and never asked for anything that she couldn't get for herself.

Caldor's crew on the other hand, once they saw and recognized him, looked as if they'd been assigned to a deathwatch. Most had pleaded, even begged, George to reassign them elsewhere in the organization. A few had even requested to be placed on Hazzard detail which meant going with Hazzard as he raided Rotarian munition stockpiles for explosives and tried out one (or more) of his pyromaniacal inventions.

When Zafra and George had pressed him, he answered and told them that, as a traitor's son, he was never assigned a proper crew. He was only given those who either broke regs or were Dragoons that were soon to be discharged (dishonorably). In fact, assignment to him was just as much a punishment as it was a position. It had been said to work with Caldor is to work with death. Assignment to him was practically career suicide.

No one in the Dragoons got promotions working with him.

No one in the Dragoons got awards working with him.

No one in the Dragoons got praises, commendations, or rewards working with him.

Because of this, no one in the Dragoons would willingly work with him. Period.

In the end, a few members of the Partisans who overheard the truth hastily brushed up on their military training and took a few lessons from Zafra's ground crew and set themselves willingly to the task, effectively tossing the recalcitrant Dragoons out on their ears (much to their evident relief).

Along with George's assurances that, once Launces was liberated, he would either see those men reassigned to another group, most likely the Headbashedin Ice Brigade or stricken from the list entirely (both choices made the Dragoons hem and haw and hastily rethink their positions).

This was war, and though they may not be a standing military force, they were _still_ fighting against a foreign enemy on home soil. There was no room for disobedience or reluctance because of previous opinions. For the most part, his new crew was a little clumsy but they did their jobs well enough. Knowing this, he spared them any reproach but gently corrected them when they made a mistake.

This in turn got Zafra's attention and a few of the Dragoons and they saw the real Caldor, not the hard-hearted cavalier who always got into trouble, but an approachable light dragon, his pride tempered by experience, and always holding himself to a higher standard than others. He had always had to work twice as hard as any other in the Dracocorps. The greatest moment was when a young Dragoon, a newly recruited cadet remarked that he acted no different than Shimmer, except that he preened himself a lot less.

_(Yeah, what is preening to me? Been in the Dracocorps since I turned eight and haven't made it past Sergeant. Not like others who are already flight leads or formation leads. No, if I have any chance for advancement...)_ He mentally chided himself for thinking things could get better. He remembered who he was, who his parents were. Good things don't happen to dragons like him. Expect the worst and hope for something just a _little_ better than what's coming.

He happened to be looking down when the lights in the city started going off one by one as power was shut off. Even the hospital in the distance suddenly went dark. He knew the hospital had some backups to keep vital equipment running but they'd need a power supply soon. He angled his way over the outer wall and started flying a holding pattern over the three hydro-electric plants.

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The first clue the team had that something was off was when the lights they had strung through the tunnels started flickered and changed from bright to dim and then brightened again before fading and then going out. George swore and looked around to the Partisans with him who started turning on their flashlights. He stopped a soldier from lighting a match by placing his hand over the unlit match.

"No flames. These tunnels may have lights but they still have pockets of methane gas in some areas, one spark or open flame and we'll have a new skylight." The man blanched and nodded, putting the matches away before taking a spare flashlight from another and aiming at the last place he had seen the sign.

"We're almost out of the city Nick. Just half a mile more and we'll be in the old storm drain for HE2." George nodded and then motioned forward.

"Alright, I guess they've gotten serious about these blackouts. If we're in the dark down here you can bet your ass the hospital's dark as well. Backups power the vital emergency rooms for about eight hours, we have six before sun-up. We have to get the plant running before daybreak. Remember, nothing fancy, anything above ten percent will draw attention. Anything below ten percent won't be enough to do anything." The foreman, Bickel, nodded, confirming the numbers.

"My memory serves, ten percent power should be achieved by opening the flow valves by about half, starting turbines one and two and running them at twenty-five percent each, and then having the dynamo at a twenty-percent rotation with a resistance rate of twelve. That _should_ produce enough power to keep the facility going and produce enough power that, compensating for the bleed-off, should be about ten point two percent. All in all, a skeleton crew of about nineteen should be able to hold the place together barring any... considerable incidents." George looked to him.

"What sort of 'incidents'?" The foreman shrugged.

"Incidents like fire, floodgate failure, turbine shaft shearing, dynamo shorts, electrical overload, but not to worry, things like that only happen when... when the machines... are... not... properly maintained..." George gave him a flat look.

"Such as not being turned on in ten plus years? No grease? No oil? No inspections or periodic start-ups? It'd be a miracle if all the equipment wasn't half rusted and decayed with age and neglect. What was the machinery made of?"

"A mix. The gear exposed to water was made of special treated high-carbon steel to resist corrosion while the electrical equipment, to cut costs and reduce the load on the foundation, was made of rivveted plate iron. The only exception was the turbine and blades which were made of titanium and aluminum composites to endure the stress the torque and velocity they would be subjected to." Zafra, in human form, copied George's flat look.

"And what are the chances that something _does_ malfunction or go wrong in some other spectacular fashion?" Bickel shrugged.

"That depends. I have no doubts that the system is still intact but, if something does go wrong, the other hydro-electric facilities can accomodate us. Each facility was built to exacting mirror specifications. This means that if something breaks in one, we can cannabalize parts from the others to repair the damage." Zafra sighed.

"Thus wasting valuable time and also putting our operations in jeopardy by having us stay in the field longer than expected." Bickel turned to her, his face reddening.

"Look, as long as we start up slowly and don't gun it right out of the gate, everything should work just fine." George turned to look at him.

"Mr. Bickel, while I respect you as a member of the Wolf's Den and as a former operator of the plant in question, I kindly ask that you control your emotions. You _are_ speaking to King's eldest grandchild." Bickel sighed.

"I apologize. I have the utmost respect for the royal family, truly I do, but the fact remains that while you may know a lot about metallurgy and machinery, you don't know much about the _people_ who work these machines. For you, simply building and testing them is all you do. Once they earn your passing mark, that's it, you're done. It then becomes whoever buys them problem to maintain them." Bickel sighed and then gazed to her and George.

"For ten years I and the men with me worked to keep Launces powered. With His Majesty's help, we converted the old water mills into state-of-the-art hydro-electric power plants. These plants powered the city for nearly a decade before His Majesty decided to try and produce crystal energy for a power plant. Once these newer, larger plants were operational, the news came down that the hydro-electric plants were to be shut down. Something about them being able to generate three times the electricity than the older plants." George looked to him with astonishment. Bickel continued.

"The kicker however, is that the guys in charge of the hydro-electric plants were so ingrained in the higher ranks of the Council that they were able to fire us with no fuss, no final paycheck, nothing to help us look for another job. Those who objected to this were blacklisted, those who simply accepted it were degraded and humiliated by being forced to take jobs at other places getting payed half of what they were being payed." George looked to him.

"What about you and your men? Did you resist? Or accept it?" Bickel chuckled.

"We resisted." He looked to his men and then back to Zafra.

"Do you think, Lady Zafra, that once the war is over your Grandfather will address the problems in the Councils?" Zafra looked to George and then nodded.

"I have no doubts that Grandfather will rectify this situation. Like you said though, it will be when the war is over." Bickel looked to George then back to Zafra and nodded.

"I suppose that'll have to do. Nick, I know that you seek to unite the Resistance under one banner, and this is good. Once this is done, I'll alert my contacts within the other cells and see about getting them to meet with you." George nodded.

"How many other cells are there?"

"Two. Besides yours and mine, there are the Tunnel Rats in the inner city. Their leader is uh... name's Anthony Yalta, military like you... he was a Sergeant with the 2nd Sharpshooters. By all accounts, one helluva shot. Next is the Shadow Corps. They're the ones in the most danger as they are set up in the Castle District. They're also the smallest, I think they have less than twenty members. They mainly fool around with things like destroying communications, disrupting motorpools, heh, one notable instance last week they managed to blow up the old steam pipes under a building used by the OAC. Hospitalized thirty of the bastards in scalding steam." George chuckled.

"An unfortunate accident." Bickel nodded.

"That's what the OAC chalked it up as. Actually said that His Majesty had used faulty pipes. They refuse to believe, despite evidence to the contrary, that there is a Resistance cell operating in their backyard. All these instances are being written up as isolated vandals." George nodded.

"Likely they believe it is Partisan activity but, if they publicly started detaining anyone in that area on the suspicion of being a Partisan, it would be more trouble than it's worth. The Castle District is home to several high-ranking families and military heroes who couldn't evacuate in time. To detain, arrest, question, or harm any of them would incite open rebellion against the OAC. The Rotarians believe they have secured the city and this area of the nation but their grasp is flimsy at best."

"How do you mean?"

"The soldiers in the occupation force, not including the OAC, are all conscripts from reserve units. They have second-rate equipment, they're using captured antique tanks for armor, and have very few automatic weapons. The OAC is only perhaps a nineth of the Occupation force's strength and they're not even equipped with proper weapons. Granted they have more automatic weapons and armor but they are spread so thin it's impossible for them to be effective." Zafra looked to them.

"So basically they're in poor positions to act as an occupation force. In that case, any idea why the Royal Army hasn't steamrolled over the Rotarian Army and liberated the city by now?" This time one of the other men answered.

"According to the radio we managed to scavenge, our forces are bogged down near the Siegfried-Marginot Line and are, apparently fighting house to house and street to street in Northumbria. Rotarian forces led by dread griffons shattered the northern part of the line near Talon's Peak managed to push all the way into Navora's western district. As of one o'clock yesterday morning, Navora is no longer neutral and is mobilizing it's entire volunteer and standing army to push the Rotarian forces out and then bolster the Syllian lines." Another nodded.

"The commanders are also waiting for reinforcements from both Espan and Anozira. Praetoria is diverting most of its troops to helping stabilize the Tellanian front but it _is_ committing several fighter squadrons and bomber wings to us, as well as a carrier fleet. By week's end, we'll have over one million foreign volunteers joining our forces to push the enemy back. That's the scuttlebutt over the radio anyway." George nodded.

"Well, I'll be putting more faith in actual reports than civilian scuttlebutt. Chances are, if we heard it, the enemy heard it as well and they are either preparing accordingly or they are wondering if the occupation was such a good idea to begin with."

As the group debated, they closed in on the exit to the aqueducts system and soon caught sight of the three old hydro-electric plants. Noticing a complete lack of patrols, they hurried to the middle plant. Much to George's evident relief, it looked as if his fears of poor maintenance were unfounded. Almost every piece of machinery was rust-free. They had to drain the oil reserves to grease the machines after a few minutes, the plant was starting up.

As power came on, the crew rushed to send the power where it wasn needed and kept an eye on the guages, making sure that they didn't cause too much of a jump in the overall grid. As George went about secureing the plant, a loud thump brought his attention outside to where Caldor had just landed, out of breath and wide-eyed. Zafra noticed he was blleding from a wound to his side and rushed to him.

"Caldor! What happened?!"

"Got sighted by one of those damn airships. They obviously have some high powered weapons mounted to them to wound me like this. But that's not why I'm here." He turned to George and, spotting unfamiliars near him, used his middle name.

"Nick, someone tipped off the OAC that our wounded is being treated at the Hospital in town. They're sending a force to round up the wounded and execute any who resist. They're going to make an example of the doctors and nurses who have been helping us." George paled and looked back to his group.

"Alright, plant crew remain here, the rest of you, back into the tunnels and make a beeline for the hospital!"


	59. Resistance: Code Black

Hello everyone! Well, I'm in a profoundly good mood today because not only was I able to get a copy of Fallout 4 but my cousin Nick let me use his Xbox One to play it. I'll tell you, everything I've heard about the game pales in comparison to actually playing it for once. The changes they made to the game since Bethesda released New Vegas are rather profound.

The graphics are flawless, the weapons incredible, the modifications near limitless, and the enemies, whew, let's just say the first time I encountered feral ghouls in the game my heart damn near leapt out of my chest at the way they were redesigned.

I'll say this, if any of you guys who read my stories have an Xbox One or PS4 or prefer PC games and are considering getting Fallout 4, I urge you to do it because, like with any game that has the Bethesda Softworks mark, you won't be disappointed.

Well anyway, you guys aren't here to hear me sing Bethesda's praises (although given my current mood I could do it all day). On with the story!

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 58: Resistance: Code Black

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Ramatalia Memorial Hospital, named after the famous battlefield doctor and nurse duo who founded the modern Syllian Medical Corps, was practically besieged. Through the scope, George could see that forces from the OAC had arrayed forces alomg the south side of the hospital and the Army had been forced to get off their asses and turn the low-caliber cannons on the nearby North Gate fortress, Northkeep, around to aim at the north face of the hospital.

Panicked doctors and patients had hung huge white sheets painted with red crosses out the large windows, reminding the OAC and Army that the building they were aiming at was a hospital. The Army had balked and pulled back but the OAC had stepped in to keep the barricade tight. It was obvious to George that the OAC was not about to show hesitation about attacking a hospital. On the south side of the hospital, the OAC had moved six captured medium tanks and had set sharpshooters on top of the armored vehicles with orders to shoot anyone who stuck their head out of a window or tried to escape.

George and the Partisans had arrived too late to save some ten patients and one doctor who, seeing the north side blocked off, tried to run out the back and were cut to pieces. The lobby was then effectively sealed off with whatever the doctors and nurses could grab to barricade the doors.

Shifting his sights, George saw an officer wearing the uniform of the OAC come up with a transmitter in hand.

_"Attention in the hospital! This is Major Fruied of the OAC. We have no quarrel with most of you in the building. If you turn over all those currently recovering who are members of the Partisans and the doctors and nurses who are willingly treating them, no others will be harmed."_ The officer pulled a folded piece of paper from his coat and then started reading it.

_"The doctors and nurses we seek are all on this list: Doctor Gordon Fayce, Cardiology; Doctors Emily and Edward Samuels, Surgery; Doctor Thomas Graham, Neurology; Nurses May Colde, Betty Earnstead, Cori Wells, Melissa Fay Bowers and Angela Rivers."_

George paled and froze. He was aware of Caldor, Miles, and a few others that knew him and knew of recent events in the castle pre-occupation eying him worriedly. He was also aware of the faces of a few others looking to him and he turned to them.

"Angela Rivers... she was the nurse who took care of George de Launces. Word was that they were an item. He would have proposed to her if the city hadn't been occupied. I had hoped she had made it out of the city." The Partisans nodded and then turned back and listened as the officer rattled off a list of names of patients, actually calling a few Partisans currently in the hopsital with injuries. George gazed around and then saw a young Partisan with a rifle and motioned him over.

"How good a shot are you with that rifle?" The young man smiled.

"As good as I need to be. You want me to tell that bastard to shut up, permenately?" George nodded.

"Wait until we get our soldiers with the bazookas and grenades in position to take out the armor and the large clusters of troops. Once I give the signal, you shoot first, and then we unload eveything and the kitchen sink on those OAC bastards. Once we got them distracted, Miles' unit will enter the hospital, secure our forces and any others who might be in danger and then get them out. It's going to be a tall order but we have to pull it off." He looked around.

"The OAC has a list, that means they know the names of the people but not what they look like. What's to stop them from just killing the remaining innocents in the hospital and claiming them as sympathizers or rebels? We have to get as many out as we can." The men and women around him nodded and then split into their assigned groups. George looked over to someone he remembered from a few days ago and motioned him over.

"Monk, I need you to get to Barnabus. Get the Runners to help us if you can. We'll need both one hell of a distraction and a quick escape."

Monk was the Partisan's liason with Barnabus Sonone, the Living Legend, and the Resistance group founded in a sub-level of his garage, the Runners. Former racers forced to quit due to both the war and the occupation. They were known for lightning fast, high risk hit-and-run raids on Occupation installations. Notably just four days ago a member of the Runners led six vehicles of the OAC on a wild chase through the Industrial sector, crashed through the weakly defended south checkpoint, then led them into a joint Runner/Partisan ambush near another V1/V2 site the Rotarians were hurrying to set up.

Needless to say the entire base was razed with only three casualties to the Runners and none to the Partisans. The Occupation forces suffered far worse.

As Monk vanished down the manhole, George returned his attention to the OAC forces and then gazed around, trying to see his divided forces. The sniper was taking cover in an abandoned apartment building nearby on the fourth floor with a clear line of sight. The men hefting the bazookas, Armored fists, and grenade belts were taking cover near the large embankment of trees and other assorted foliage intended to beautify the hospital surroundings. Miles' group of seven were already at the far end awaiting the signal to charge in through the front doors.

He took a deep breath, cocked the hammer on the flare gun in his hand, and fired a blue flare high into the air. The flare whistled upwards and exploded high above the OAC forces who all gazed upwards to look at the flare and then looked to see where it had been fired from. A lone Partisan holding the flag of Launces, white and blue with a two gold stars, rose and started waving it back and forth. Near to him, George rose, weapon in hand.

"Partisans of Launces! Rise and Fight!"

The sniper fired, the round flying true and stricking the OAC officer neatly between the eyes. As he fell backward, the bazookas opened fire, impacting three of the six tanks. The fourth bazooka had fired but the round had failed to detonate but still knocked it out of the fight. Armored fists finished the remaining tanks and the grenades were thrown into the crowd of Rotarian soldiers who, by now, were panicked at the ambush and trying to frantically ready their weapons.

No sooner had a Rotarian soldier got off a hastily aimed round from his rifle than the Partisans, each armed with the M7A submachinegun and now freed from their heavy explosives, opened fire, raking the Rotarians with a hail of .45 caliber rounds. The Partisans, having assembled a small force of sixteen, seven of whom were with Miles' group, were outnumbered by the some thirty Rotarian OAC troops but managed to cut down twelve in the surprise attack. The remainder of the OAC forces, once they got their wits about them, started exchanging fire with the Partisans.

A bullet from a Rotarian rifle whizzed by George's head close enough the wind stirred his hair, forcing him to drop to a kneeling position and level his own M7 at the OAC and fired a burst, severely wounding a rifleman trying to sight in one of the Partisans in Miles' group running for the hospital.

A Rotarian soldier tried to pull the pin from a grenade only to have the sniper shoot the grenade, detonating it. A marksman still on one of the burning tanks tried to countersnipe but was killed by a burst of gunfire from a Partisan among the ranks. Then, by some miracle for the Rotarians, the tank that had been hit by the failed bazooka round started up and slowly turned left to face the Resistance.

Seeing the tank, he cursed and wished that Zafra or Caldor had been here but, as Caldor was injured and Zafra still at the hydroplant, plus, being this far inside the city, a dragon on the wing would have been a sitting duck for the anti-air positions and a dead givaway to anyone looking up and would have likely brought reinforcements from all over the city.

The tank opened fire with the main gun, striking the embankment and wounding two of the men taking cover there and killing another. The machineguns on the right side, having no other targets, started firing at the hospital, shattering windows and trying to kill anyone watching the battle unfold. A loud motor got George's attention and he saw six vehicles come flying around the corner.

The lead vehicle was a steamcar of sorts that had been hastily fitted with armor, a machinegun fitted turret on top, and what sounded like a bigger, beefier engine. The car stopped, almost comically beside the tank's left side (the side that was disabled because of the failed round), a armor piece flipped up and he saw an arm pitch something through the hole in the armor before the machinegun on top started shooting and the car hastily peeled out again, tires squeeling and smoking. Moments later, an explosion ripped the top hatch off the tank, and fireballs blew out from the top and the left hole.

The tank's left tread, now damaged beyond repair, snagged and the tanks started to turn. In the heat of the moment, no OAC soldier noticed the tank was a runaway until someone started screaming as the out of control tank ran him over. The OAC, out of options, left their positions and started falling back. The Partisans took the chance offered and fired on the moving enemies, killing eight more before the enemy was away from the hospital and running.

As the first vehicle stopped and kept suppressing fire on the street corner, three vehicles, modified buses, pulled up to the hospital where Miles' team was just coming out with several doctors, nurses, and patients who were then quickly bundled into the vehicles. The last vehicle pulled up and out climbed Monk and another Runner who came to George.

"Nick, may I present Miss Abigail Parsons, wife of the late Victor Parsons." George nodded as he recognized the name. Victor had been a Runner who had been caught and executed a week ago. His wife, who until then was willing to just let things blow over, decided that actions spoke louder than words and started helping the Runners. They shook hands and then Nick gazed at the buses loading up.

"When the last bus is full, we'll need to get quickly out of the area and out of range of those cannons on the fort. The Rotarians are hesitant to fire on a hospital but who knows how much longer they'll stay their hand before their commanders decide to disregard that nagging little voice in their heads and blow the north face of the hospital to kingdom-"

He didn't finish the sentence as suddenly a loud whistling noice echoed over head and an explosion blew a corner off the north corner of the thirteenth floor. Shortly after, another shell blew a hole straight through the fifteenth. George cursed and looked to the buses.

"Time's up! Get those vehicles rolling NOW!" He gazed in the direction of the fort and growled.

"What I wouldn't give for a fire dragon right about now!" Monk looked to him.

"Nick, that's what Miss Abigail came to tell you, the Runners just came back from a rescue operation near the airfield. The Rotarians had captured a dragon who couldn't escape because he was ill. He's-"

A roar drowned out what he was saying and George looked up to see a flash of bright red drop out the clouds and vanish behind the hospital. Moments later, a siren wailed from the fort and thick black smoke started rising from the wall as the red-scaled dragon appeared again. This time a few anti-air guns along the wall started firing upwards at the dragon who quickly climbed up into the clouds. He was visible just long enough that George was able to see his bright red scales and the gold and yellow highlights as well as some silver and white of his underbelly.

With the shelling stopped, the buses quickly started up and split up, one bus and one escort. George and the Partisans, with no room on the vehicles, went back into the sewers and started making their way back to the HQ. All the while, George hoped that the dragon had gotten away safely and that the civilians in the hospital would make it out alright.

Knowing the Runners, they'd get the people to safety.

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When George and the rest of the unit returned, they found the place abuzz with activity and excitement. Upon entering the main area of the base, George found that, for the first time in his memory, the place actually had enough power that they didn't have a brown-out every six or seven minutes. Venturing down to the lower level, he found Zafra helping the medic tend to Caldor's wounds.

Apparently, he'd been more injured than he'd let on previously and was now being thoroughly chided by Zafra for his reckless attitude. She stopped her tirade long enough to greet him before continuing and he decided to momentarily ignore Caldor's pleading gaze asking him to tell Zafra to calm down. Instead of stopping Zafra with a statement, he told them of what transpired. Caldor was immediately on edge.

"This dragon, did you see what he looked like?" George nodded and recounted the moment he saw the dragon and the appearance of his scales and underbelly. Caldor immediately groaned.

"That sounds like Solfeyr. He may be a dragon but he's not Dracocorps, he's a civilian. Well, to put it bluntly he's _ex_-Dracocorps. Got kicked out a few years back for a multitude of charges the least of which was being drunk and disorderly. Doesn't sound like much but when a dragon with the fire element becomes drunk and disorderly near a human town people tend to become afraid. Damn near set the town on fire from what I heard." George looked to him.

"What was he doing here?" Caldor shrugged.

"My guess? He was trying to beg and plead with Aaros to reinstate him. You see, he's nobility; _dragon_ nobility. He's the youngest son of Duke What's-his-name from some part of Northumbria... Xelven, I believe, and his dismissal was a huge embarrassment for Daddy-dearest and he all but disowned him. Word was he was just barely managing to scrape by. While he was here, he just so happened to catch a rather bad cold that Illian had just gotten over and, as a result, was the only dragon in the city still grounded when the city came under attack. Likely he wasn't in any shape to escape of fight back when the enemy took the airfield." George looked to him.

"Do you think he's worth recruiting?" Caldor looked to Zafra and then to George.

"Under any other circumstances, I'd say hell no but... well... I'm going to be grounded for a day or two and besides, when he arrived he was swearing he'd turned over a new leaf. You'll the leader of the Partisans. Whatever your decision, I'll stick with it." Zafra huffed at that.

"Well if you do recruit him Uncle, you'd best be sure to find a suitable alcove for him to den up in because our's is cramped enough as it is." She immediately blushed at what she had said and gazed at both Caldor who stared at her slackjawed and beet red and George looking about three seconds away from bursting into a fit of laughter. To save the remainder of her dignity, she turned and fled down an alcove.

George turned and looked to Caldor who was trying his best to pull himself together.

"I think, once everyone settles down and unwinds, I'll go see if I can't find this dragon and see about getting him to join us." Caldor heaved a weary sigh but nodded before resting his head on his forelegs and closed his eyes...

...just to have them shoot open again and him bang his head into the ceiling a scream, undoubtably Zafra's, tore through the underground. George had drawn his sidearm and charged down the tunnel Zafra had taken with Caldor hot on his heels.

As they reached a broad section of the underground, they saw Zafra standing before a large red male dragon: Solfeyr.

Solfeyr turned to gaze at the new arrivals. He sniffed disdainfully when he recognized Caldor but then he saw George and his eyes widened.

"George de Launces, it is a pleasure to see you unharmed. If you would permit me to introduce myself, I am Solfeyr and I-" He was cut off by Zafra swinging her tail around and clubbing him over the head with it. When he recovered, he glared at Zafra.

"Why you female oaf! How DARE you strike ME, do you have ANY idea as to who I am?!" George coughed to get his attention.

"Perhaps we should ask that same question. You see that is Zafra, the daughter of Magothera de Launces and my niece." Solfeyr immediately coughed nervously and backed away.

"Permit me to apologize m'lady. Had I known who you were I would have ceased my actions sooner. I had no knowledge that the Partisans already had a dragon working with them. I was coming to offer my assistance. I had thought you were either a deserter hiding in these tunnels." Zafra huffed.

"I heard you were nobility but I wonder about that since you can't count. The Partisans have _two _dragons aiding them. Myself and Caldor who has proven his bravery countless times before now." Solfeyr looked at Caldor and grunted.

"So, the traitor's son wanting to absolve himself of his sins, eh? Well, I suppose if you want to make a martyr of yourself fighting to free Launces is as just a way as any. Though I do wonder, how _did_ you come to join the Partisans anyway?" Caldor huffed.

"Well unlike _you_ who got caught on the ground and surrendered, I was knocked unconscious during the battle and woke up the day after. True I was in the midst of being chained to a truck by the Rotarians but thanks to George I managed to get free and have been fighting ever since." Solfeyr bristled at Caldor's jibe at him and allowed a small amount of smoke to escape from his nostrils. George immediately interposed himself and looked at both dragons.

"Enough if this! I don't need two male dragons trying to exhibit dominance over the other so close to the HQ. If you two want to see who's is bigger then go outside and fight it out! If not, then drop the attitudes. Solfeyr, Caldor has been a loyal, trustworthy comrade to us since we saved him from capture. I will not have his character or his actions called into question. Caldor, you yourself said that if I decided to ask Solfeyr to join the Partisans you wouldn't have any quarrels about it." Caldor took a deep breath and nodded before gazing back to Zafra.

"For the record, I do indeed agree that he should find his own alcove to den up in." Solfeyr snorted.

"I intend to. Besides, it's not as if you two are sharing a den together. I mean, that's a priviledge reserved for _mates_ and there's no way that ANY female of the de Launces bloodline would see _anything_ in YOU Caldor."

Before George could react, Caldor had lunged forward and struck Solfeyr with his right foreleg. He didn't use his claws so it was more like a punch but the effect was still unnerving. Solfeyr spun sideways, smashing his crest against the wall which gave an unnerving crack. As Caldor reared back for another punch, Solfeyr's tail came around and struck Caldor sending him into the opposite wall. As Caldor and Solfeyr rose to charge each other again, the stone from the tunnel leapt up on its own accord and formed shackles around the two males. Each turned to look at Zafra who was panting in anger.

"How dare the both of you! Getting yourselves worked up into a frenzy over the slightest thing! You're both damn lucky you didn't bring the tunnel down on our heads and expose the underground to the enemy topside! Ancestors, with this much noise you just may have done so! Caldor, acting like this is beneath you and YOU! Solfeyr, for your information I _am_ denning up with Caldor only because there is not much room down here for each to have their own quarters and, quite frankly, I find _him_ a lot more comfortable to be around. Now then, I am going to release the two of you, and then I am going to sleep!" She released them and sighed to her uncle.

"They're _Your_ headache now..." George nodded as Zafra went to the alcove that she and Caldor shared, wings, tail, and neck drooping with weariness. Once she was away, he turned back to Solfeyr.

"Now then, Solfeyr, you were being held at the airfield, right?" Solfeyr nodded, thoroughly submissive. Then suddenly his head shot up with an exclamation.

"Ancestors I am a fool!" Caldor refrained from asking him why it took so long to figure it out. His expression spoke that this was serious.

"I just remembered that I saw something strange while I was being held there. Several of these strange machines the Rotarians called 'Choppers' were delivered to Launces a few days ago. Apparently they are to be used by the OAC to patrol the skies over the city to ensure that dragons can't launch attacks on OAC buildings and to pursue resistance fighters fleeing in a vehicle or on foot." George looked to him.

"What do they look like?" Solfeyr began to answer when a Partisan came running in out of breath.

"Nick! Hazzard detail is returning but they've got some kind of machine shadowing them! They're trying to evade it but they're having no luck!" George turned to Solfeyr.

"Looks like we need your help right out of the gate." Solfeyr nodded and turned to proceed back down to the entrance to the aqueduct. Caldor turned to George and sighed.

"I'll stay here in case I'm needed. Despite what I said, Solfeyr is capable but he's just..." George noticed his hesitation.

"A little hot-headed?" Caldor nodded ruefully both at the truth of the statement and the pun. Then suddenly, Solfeyr stopped and turned back around.

"By the way, George. Miss Angela sends her regards and to tell you that once she is certain the patients from the hospital are alright, she will be rejoining you here."

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Well, here is the new chapter. Man, Christmas is right around the corner and a new year on the horizon. It feels like almost yesterday we were starting out THIS year and now we turn around and here's another one. Well, days go by and the tomorrows become todays and then yesterdays. Through it all I shall keep on writing.

Hopefully I'll get another chapter up before Christmas but on the off-chance that I don't:

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all of you.

Next Chapter: Resistance: The Flying Eye


	60. Resistance: The Flying Eye

Okay guys, sorry for the double upload. I meant to put Ch. 58 up before the election but things got kinda hectic around the house so I was forced to push everything back a little bit. Anyway, whew! I am GLAD all this election stiff is over. I don't mind it personally but sometimes things just get WAY out of hand.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 59: Resistance: The Flying Eye

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The aircraft handled like nothing Lieutenant Villis had ever piloted before. It could hover in place, turn on a dime, and wasn't so fast that he constantly overflew his target but not too slow that he was a sitting duck in the event the targets he was chasing decided to return fire. It could also pivot in place, slide from side to side, and with a flick of the control stick, he could tilt backwards and make a swift retreat of tilt forward and make a rapid attack pass.

The Vertical Air Craft (Experimental) (VAC-X), or 'Chopper' for short, was one of the latest devices shipped to the OAC for use in occupied areas. The Chopper he was currently flying was number X-0012, one of fifteen sent to Launces by Mechanos' order to assist the forces in patrolling the city and stamping out the Resistance cells. The other fourteen Choppers were either on the ground being assembled, fueled, or in the air patrolling other sectors of the city.

If there was a downside to the aircraft, it was that the constant _'whomph, whomph, whomph, whomph'_ that the rotors made as they chopped the air was actually loud enough that people on the ground were looking up and gasping in amazement at the sight of the machine. Another was that, to his pilot's mind, bright orange was definately _NOT_ the color of an aircraft meant for observation and scouting purposes.

Apparently in the rush to get the machines into production, the primers and paints had been mixed up the wrong way and as a result instead of the muted red and grey that it was _supposed_ to have been, most of the aircraft was painted 'construction orange' with only the engine and the frame being painted grey.

At least he wasn't alone. A young officer with the intelligence division, Lieutenant Carmine, was currently 'riding shotgun' as the saying was. Normally, the side seat was to be used by a soldier who would, in the event of an attack, use the MP32 submachinegun holstered to the side. The other weapon for the aircraft, an MG29 'Matchstick' light machinegun, had been removed to be replaced with a camera that took photos everytime the pilot squeezed the trigger attached to the flight control stick.

In short, they were currently unarmed, flying a lightly armored aircraft, observing a group of suspected Partisans hopeing to find out where they were based at. To make matters worse, it they indeed _were_ Partisans, there was a stong chance that, if they were discovered, rather than waste valuable ammunition in wasted effort, they would likely deploy either the light dragon or the earth dragoness to deal with them.

He didn't like either choice.

He felt Carmine tap him on the shoulder and point to the street and he then moved the aircraft into position over the next street, keying the radio as he went,

"This is Unit Twelve, target group has moved from Eighth Street to Linehold Avenue, heading north. Command, requesting reinforcements in the event of an attack. Aircraft is making enough noise that they _know_ we're up here." The reply was instant.

_"Negative Unit Twelve. No OAC forces are to reveal themselves until we have a confirmed hit on the Partisan's HQ. As for being seen, I don't give a damn if you're blowing trumpets, flashing lights, and the whole city can see you. You are to follow your orders and recon the area and observe anything suspicious."_ Sighing, Villis cut the radio back off and then looked at Carmine.

"So Lieutenant, correct me if I'm wrong but you are the General's nephew?" Carmine glanced at him and nodded.

"Yeah. But to be honest, I was closer to my Mother than to him." Villis nodded.

"Oh yes, sorry. I forgot she died recently. An accident, I believe it was?" Carmine scowled.

"Nothing '_accidental_' about it..." Villis was about to ask him what he meant when he caught a flash of red off to the left. He glanced and paled.

"Oh no... The... The Partisans have _another_ dragon?!" Carmine looked left and went whiter than Villis.

The dragon was coming straight at them, ready to attack. Villis gripped the control stick harder.

"Lieutenant, brace for evasive maneuvers!"

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Solfeyr went from rapid flight to level glide as the machine came into view. At the way those rotors were spinning, it would have been foolish to close to melee range. Each rotor was basically rotating swords that spun at very high rates of speed. If he was going to destroy it, he needed to do it at a distance. As he closed though, he glanced downward and growled in annoyance.

The streets were cluttered with civilian vehicles and pedestrians who were staring up at the machine and gawking at it. His drago sight picked out ten or so people trying to weave around in the crowd to evade the aircraft but were not having any luck.

_(Must be the humans the aircraft is shadowing. I'm going to have to knock out that aircraft before they reach them.)_

As he shifted to come at the Chopper from another angle, a siren went off and a flak burst exploded almost right in front of him, startling him. He gazed down and saw an anti-air cannon on a hastily constructed platform that was stationed on top of the nearby apartment complex. He growled at the enemy's tactics and then decided to eliminate the direct threat before angling back.

As he closed with the AA platform, the soldiers struggling to reload the cannon panicked and leapt from the platform as he launched a fireball at the cannon. The flames splashed upon the metal framing. The ammunition near the flames caught and exploded and blasted the flames outwards and onto the roof of the five story building. A dragon's fire element burned a lot fiercer and quicker than any regular fire. In a matter of moments, a small two foot square burning spot spread, consuming the entire roof, creating a thick pillar of black smoke that rose against the clear sky.

Solfeyr was seeing red. No sooner had he silenced one AA gun than another fired a burst at him. And another. And another. The Chopper was getting away, fire alarms from the building were going off, and now four more AA cannons were training upon him. As he tried to dodge more bursts of flak, a burst of light shot by and struck an AA platform. Turning, Solfeyr saw Caldor, wounds bandaged, winging his way towards him, muzzle twisted in a grimace of both exasperation and anger.

"Solfeyr! I thought you had said you were in better control of your fire than _this_!" Solfeyr growled before launching a fireball at another AA gun.

"I _AM_ in control! I was trying to get that aircraft but these damn guns keep distracting me!" Caldor growled.

"Right now, get control of these fires you've started! _I'll_ take care of the Rotarian aircraft." This made Solfeyr growl louder.

_"Do not presume to order _ME_ about, lizard."_ Caldor's temper flared but, remembering Zafra's and George's words, checked himself and angled about, leaving Solfeyr fuming. He turned and started after the Chopper which by now was still following Hazzard's group but was doing so at a greater distance.

As he neared the aircraft, a flak gun fired, trying to keep him away from the chopper. He evaded the flak burst, fire a blast at the offending cannon, and then aimed for the helicopter.

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Villis was almost on the verge of panic. He had been relieved when the fire dragon broke away to deal with the building it had inadvertantly set on fire but this hope dropped as he saw the light dragon now coming towards the chopper. He zigged and zagged trying to keep out of the dragon's fire line. Beside him, Carmine was cool as could be yet kept gazing about, likely for one of the Occupation forces' 'No Fly Zones', an area so covered with AAA that anything hostile that flew into it would have so many cannons and machineguns firing at it would not be able to escape or destroy them all.

Glancing behind him, he saw the dragon open his maw and fire a burst which arced towards them. He jerked the control stick to the left suddenly and Carmine fell over, the left side of his coat opened, showing the inside pocket. Villis caught a glance of something blue in the pocket and when he leveled out, he frowned and reached to unfasten his service pistol.

Carmine looked to him with a smile.

"Going to try and take pot shots at a dragon?" Villis' frown deepened and he drew the pistol and pointed it at Carmine.

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A gunshot from the helicopter startled Caldor as he prepared another burst. The aircraft dipped suddenly and smoke started pouring from the engine. It seemed to level out but it was dropping rapidly. At first he though maybe he had hit it but then he saw movement and his curiousity got the better of him as he closed in for a better look. What he saw amazed him.

The two Rotarian officers were fighting in the cockpit over a pistol, the pilot was clearly at the disadvantage having to wrestle his passenger and keep the aircraft in the air at the same time, all the while the chopper dipped lower and lower. As he watched, the passenger managed to wrestle the sidearm out of the hand of the pilot and fired, striking the man in the stomach. As the pilot slowly slumped over, the passenger looked at Caldor, a look of both panic, yet relief in his eyes.

Then, much to Caldor's surprise, the passenger kicked the dead man out of the cockpit, gripped the control stick in both hands and tried to guide the wounded aircraft down onto the flat roof of a nearby residential high-rise. The aircraft set down hard, the landing gear buckling as it came down. The tail section suddenly snapped free and went flying across the roof, the unstabilized cockpit spun once, twice, the rotor struck a structure and splintered, sending shrapnel across the roof.

When the aircraft was finally still, the officer climbed out of the wreckage, none the worse for wear and, noticing where he was and that he was effectively out of sight of the Rotarian anti-air, started waving wildly to him. Caldor then glanced back and saw that Solfeyr was finished putting out the fires he'd started and was now flying at the high rise with murder in his eyes. Even though the aircraft was destroyed and the pilot dead, this man was a passenger in the aircraft and Solfeyr was incoming to end him.

Caldor landed roughly on the high rise and glanced at the man but eyed the sidearm warily. The soldier, noticing this, nodded and dropped the pistol and kicked it away, far out of his reach and raised his hands in surrender. Before he could say anything though, Solfeyr came barreling in, knocking the soldier over and pinning him to the roof with a forefoot, intent on killing the man as one would kill a rat. As Solfeyr prepared to roast the man alive, the man looked to Caldor, panicked.

"For the love of God get him to stand down! I'm not an enemy!" Caldor raised an eye ridge and glanced at Solfeyr who, needless to say, was unconvinced. The man groaned as Solfeyr pressed down on his ribcage.

"Keep talking wretch. You know? You Rotarians kept me chained like an animal at the airport, trying to starve me. Other dragons tend to frown upon eating humans but in the event of war I see no difference between an enemy and prey."

THAT got Caldor's attention and he looked sick but tamped down his emotions and squared his shoulders.

"That's enough Solfeyr. Stand down. If you are trying to scare the man you've succeeded. If you are not joking then you will have to face ME." Solfeyr snorted.

"What are you going to do? You have no authority over me. I am noble, you are a commoner... no... I would at least _listen_ to a commoner. _You_ are nothing. A wyrm that should have been executed with your traitor father but was _protected_ by His Lordship's good graces. If you want to leave this roof with no scorch marks on your hide, leave now." Solfeyr turned back to the human, his jaws parting. Caldor looked and actually saw his fangs and tongue glistening with saliva and something else. A strong coppery scent reached his nostrils and he gaped in horror.

"Solfeyr... tell me you didn't..." Solfeyr snapped his jaws shut and glared at Caldor.

"Didn't what? Savor my revenge upon the humans who were shooting at me? Sorry, I guess I should have told you that the crews of those guns were only the first. This one here... he's dessert."

The man was wide-eyed in panic. Caldor fought the urge to retch as he grasped the concept that a dragon, a _Syllian_ dragon, would attack and devour humans willingly, _gleefully_. He then scowled and readied his light element.

"He may be Rotarian, but he has surrendered. I won't ask you again Solfeyr. Stand. Down." Solfeyr groaned in exhasperation.

"You really are his son... You both really _piss me OFF_!" Solfeyr removed his claw and lunged at Caldor, blood-stained jaws agape, ready to bite into his neck and rip his throat out. Caldor suddenly realized what had happened. Solfeyr had gone mad in captivity.

He leapt back just in time as Solfeyr landed where Caldor had been moments before. However, he executed a second leap that brough him within clawing distance of Caldor and his claws cut along Caldor's breastbone, making him wince in pain as his former ally now drew blood. Caldor was better trained to hesitate however and returned the attack with a tail whip to the side of Solfeyr's head and then, flipping around, used both his hind legs to mule kick Solfeyr in the chest, sending him backwards where he landed on his back. As he lay there panting, Solfeyr gave a hoarse laugh.

"So, the traitor tries to be a hero. I guess you actually have some backbone after all! I can see why Lady Zafra seems to like you. It's sad really, the two of you might actually have some feelings for each other but the sad part is that it can never be allowed. To let you mate with Zafra de Launces is akin to forgiving Silverus for what he did. You know it, don't you, deep inside your soul... You know that Magothera de Launces will _never_ forgive your Father for what he did and she would _NEVER _consent to you mating with her daughter!" Caldor dove forward, grabbed Solfeyr and flung him into the small structure that housed the stairs.

It hurt him but it didn't shut him up.

"Hah! She'd probably kill you herself if you tried! Hell, even the _'merciful'_ King James de Launces would see you lead to the guillotine for trying, for even _entertaining_, the idea that you could amount to anything or deserve a chance to ask his granddaughter to be _your_ mate!" Though Caldor didn't show it, that remark cut him deep, his own self-doubt resurfacing again, repeating what Solfeyr had just said.

"You don't deserve happiness! All you deserve, at best, is a funeral pyre and for your ashes to be scattered and forgotten for all eternity! I won't be so kind as to scatter your ashes, but I'll give you a pyre worthy of a martyr!" Solfeyr fired a blast of fire upwards at Caldor who managed to evade it and return fire with a burst of light.

Whereas Solfeyr's attack had missed, Caldor's hit the mark. Plus, weakened as he had been from both his confinement, starting and putting out the fires, Solfeyr's attack had been lacking. The burst from Caldor stunned him long enough for Caldor to close with him and use a technique called the 'Flashbang' to stun Solfeyr so that Caldor could then proceed to knock him out cold. When he stepped back from Solfeyr. He saw the human again had the sidearm but was aiming at Solfeyr. The human looked to Caldor with anger in his eyes.

"Is he dead?" Caldor shook his head.

"Out cold. I'll take him back to the Partisans where he'll be judged for what he's done. In Syllia, it is a crime paramount to treason to hunt and eat humans or cannibalize dragons. Now then, drop your weapon and explain what you meant that you 'weren't our enemy'." The man tossed the sidearm away and glanced to Caldor.

"It would be best if you take me to your leader. I will explain everything then."

Caldor eyed the man warily but relented and allowed him to climb onto his back as he grabbed the unconcious Solfeyr and took off, heading for the entrance to the Underground.

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Solfeyr was awake, snorting fire, and pulling at the chains that now held him as George, Zafra, Caldor, and others looked on. The Dragoons who had been glad to hear that another dragon was with the Partisans now gazed at him with colder glares than what they had given Caldor. As far as they were concerned, Solfeyr was no longer a Syllian dragon. He was a monster, a murderer. It would have been acceptable if he had simply destroyed the anti-air guns but actually hunting down, killing, and devouring the gun crews was unacceptable.

Caldor's injuries were bandaged up with great haste and care from the Dragoons once they understood why Caldor was bringing Solfeyr back and all but roaring for them to lock him in chains before he came to. They reasoned that if Solfeyr was mad enough to murder Rotarian soldiers, what would stop him from going after the Partisans or worse taking off in the dead of night to hunt for civilian 'prey'.

As Caldor turned and wearily went to return to his den to get some much needed rest and recharge his mana, he felt Zafra brush against him. Turning to look at her, he saw an inner light behind her eyes that showed concern for his injuries as well as admiration for what he had done. He gave a wane smile as he went to the den but he still felt wounds Solfeyr had ripped into him throb as those dark thoughts surfaced again.

George meanwhile, now with Zafra and the other Partisans looked to the Rotarian officer Caldor had 'captured' who stood at attention before them. As George looked on a Partisan patted him down, checking for weapons or recording devices and finding none, nodded to George who then spoke.

"So... Lieutenant Mason Carmine... you're with Rotarian Intelligence... assigned to the Occupation... but for what purpose may I ask? Surely you weren't intending to defect, not in the middle of occupied territory." Carmine chuckled and shook his head.

"Your intel seems to be antiquated sir. You believe that Launces is still deep behind enemy lines when the truth is that you are now merely fourty miles from the front and drawing closer daily." George and the others went wide-eyed in shock as Carmine continued.

"Thanks to the efforts of Captain Joshua de Launces as well as Major Dieter Muntz, Rotiart is effectively divided. If you'll permit me?" Carmine reached into his coat and produced a small piece of paper, no larger than a poker card. The card's upper half was deep blue like the night sky with a silver four-pointed star with an ornate black 'R' over it. The lower half was divided into three horizontal stripes: gold, white, silver. Carmine smiled as he saw their confusion.

"Allow me to reintroduce myself. I am First Lieutenant Mason Carmine of Her Majesty Princess Ayura's Rotarian Royal Army. I am with the Rotarian Underground, a force dedicated to overthrowing Mechanos and seeing Princess Ayura restored to the Rotarian throne. My uncle, General Commander Terance Lichter, commander of the Occupation, is also among our ranks but has been forced to keep his true purpose secret until the Syllian forces are close enough to retake Launces. However, our time table has become a little... off, thereby forcing me to seek you out sooner than I had originally been ordered to." George looked to him curiously.

"What do you mean by 'off'?" Carmine sighed.

"The commander of the OAC, Captain Alonzo Terref, has recieved orders that, should Launces be in danger of being retaken, to detonate the failsafe, a nuclear bomb that arrived with the latest supply shipment and thus destroy both the city of Launces, its people, and the encroaching Syllian army. As this cannot be allowed to happen, I and the soldiers in the Occupation loyal to the Princess, have been forced to speed up our timetables. Instead of waiting for the Syllian Army to retake Launces by the end of the month, _WE_ must retake Launces by the end of the _week_." George looked to him curiously.

"If what you say is true, how do we know you're telling the truth?" Carmine produced a piece of paper from his coat pocket and held it out to George.

"Because, Your Highness, I have a letter from your Father that I am to present to you once I make contact. It was transmitted to me while I was still on the front. My former commander and my entire old unit are among those who, once they learned of Princess Ayura's existance, defected. The time for secrecy and subterfuge is over. The time for action is at hand."

The Partisans who didn't know George's identity gasped aloud and many Dragoons, out of pure training, snapped to attention. Even the representatives from the other Resistance cells who George had been meeting with suddenly rose and gaped at him. George, purturbed but now calm, unfolded the letter, and after reading the first few lines, smiled and began to read aloud.

"My son, it has finally happened. The information aquired from Lieutenant Voss was in fact true. By the time you recieve this letter, we will have now secured the safety of Ayura, the silver griffon and heir-apparent to the long-dismantled Rotarian silver throne. As we are now, the defence of the Siegfried-Marginot Line succeeded with aid from your younger brother's wing and the Rotarian forces, or at least those that have not surrendered or outright defected, are in full retreat." The Partisans let out a ragged cheer at that and everyone was grinning. George spared a moment to let them celebrate before continueing.

"We have regained much of the ground that was lost in the invasion and forces from Peninsula City have pushed the enemy back and are now in the process of moving west to liberate Schildhaven while our forces in Tellanos are divided between aiding the Tellanians and pushing east to link up with our Peninsula City forces as well as the Schildhaven Army. With any luck, by the end of the month, Syllian flags will once again fly from Launces. I look forward to seeing you soon." Then he unfolded the bottom part and then went wide-eyed and looked at Zafra.

"P.S. Make sure to tell Zafra that we have long learned of Caldor's involvement and how he has protected her and fought for the Resistance time and again. It is my greatest wish that she and Caldor, should they be getting along as well as the reports seem to suggest, be together when we arrive for we have discovered something absolutely incredible about him. I cannot say over the letter as the news may distract Caldor from the task at hand. But needless to say, neither Lysa or myself, nor Thera or Ignitus, find him objectionable if she decided to pursue him as a mate."

Zafra looked as if she were to blush but then squealed in delight and took off towards the den she shared with Caldor, leaving George to turn and speak to the Partisans.

"In case you all are wondering. Yes, my name is indeed George de Launces. The reason I kept this hidden was so that were I to be captured or killed, it would not dishearten the Resistance. Now, with the new mission of liberating Launces at hand, I can now announce myself to you all and also to the city itself, but not until we have secured the city and forced... uh... Mechanos' loyalists out of OUR city!" The people cheered and shouted and many actually wept. George turned to Carmine.

"Lieutenant, I have to ask, of those in the Occupation, how many are loyal to your cause?" Carmine smiled.

"Sir, I am pleased to inform you that roughly four-hundred Occupation soldiers are loyal to the Princess. When the Partisans are ready to move, just let me know and I'll send the word out that your actions are to be ignored, and if possible, aided." Carmine presented another card and handed it to George.

"All Royalist soldiers will be carrying a card such as the one I have here. I passed out the cards upon my arrival here. To identify yourselves, simply ask the Rotarian soldiers if they've seen a silver star in the night sky. That will be their que to... leave their posts temporarily and allow you to carry out your objectives unhindered." He put away the card and then looked to the Partisans.

"At the moment, my Uncle is trying to coerce the location of the bomb from Captain Terref. Once he has it, he will alert me and that will the the que for the Royalist soldiers to show their colors and help you retake the city. The promise of the silver griffons is to restore our nation through means other than war. She gives us hope for a better future and that is what the Rotarians are fighting for. We no doubt will have to pay reparations especially for what we did to Praetoria and Tellanos but for the sake of restoring hope to our people it is a price we shall pay gladly." George nodded to him and turned away just as someone cleared their throat and lifted their voice.

"Oh Syllia, Our Home and Land, the Great Shield of the West! The Crown and Cross fly everywhere, from East to West always!" More people took voice.

"Whene'r our Might is challenged, or our Allies held at Sword, We ride out with a mighty cry that resounds throughout the hills!" Now even more started singing.

"Raise the Shield! Raise the Sword! To the field we march at dawn! Show our foes! Show them all! That our Might shall never fail! In the name of God and for our King, we shall never yield and never cease. Raise sword and shield against the foe. Raise the Both for God and King!"

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As the Partisans were singing, Zafra crept into the den where Caldor was resting. She could see him from the dim outline of his body as his scales gave off that familiar soothing light. He was slightly to one side, his right wind unfirled across the floor, his tail twitching occasionally. She gazed at the line that had been marked through the floor dividing the den into his and hers. She thought back to that day in the canal under the mill when she had first done this and thought back to all that had happened since then.

A sudden warmth suffused her body, making her blush. She gazed at Caldor and noticed for the first time how toned and defined his body was. The scars that cut across his body defined his appearance, she winced inwardly at the abuse he must have suffered in his youth and took a deep breath. She then realized what she had been feeling all this time. She had fallen for Caldor. Smiling at the thought of her parents and grandparents blessings, she crossed the line in the floor and snuggled up under Caldor's unfurled wing, leaned against his underbelly and twined her tail around his, breathing his scent in heavily, smiling as she became accustomed to it.

She glanced at Caldor and saw his twitch a bit and gently licked his neck.

"No matter what anyone else thinks or says about you, remember and know that to me, YOU are more dragon than any other. It is you who caught my eye and captured my heart. Never doubt Caldor that YOU are the dragon I have fallen in love with." She sighed gazed back to make sure they weren't being observed and then leaned in closer.

"You said once what dragoness would consent to bear your children, to call herself your mate. Know that _I_ would call it a great pleasure to call myself _your_ mate and an even greater joy to start a family with _you_. When this is all over and Launces is free, I... I want _you_ to be _my_ mate and everyone else's opinions be damned."

Much to Zafra's shock, Caldor's eyes opened, tears restrained by his eyelids now pouring freely as he wept. The tears caught the light from Caldor's scales and made his eyes shimmer like stars that seemingly radiated pure joy. Zafra recovered herself and smiled at him as his jaw quivered as he tried to speak.

"Zafra... do... so you truly mean...?"

She silenced him by letting her instincts take over and giving him a long, drawn-out kiss as she snuggled even closer, her body rubbing so close to his that not even dust could find a gap and the lines between them seemed to blur. Her tongue wrapped around his and his around hers as they kissed long and deep, words losing meaning between them. The heat that suffused her body intensified as she did so. It was with great reluctance that she and Caldor broke the kiss, both of them panting as they did so.

"Z-Zafra... not... yet... I-I want you, I want to be your mate as well but... I... I can't yet... not with this war still raging... it wouldn't be fair... to you or our children... I... I want my children to hatch in a world that knows peace... I don't want them to see the horrors that I've been forced to bear witness to..." Zafra was breathless and disappointed that they had stopped but inside she knew he told the truth and she nodded slowly.

"R-Right... You're right... Sorry..." Caldor shook his head, a sincere smile creasing his muzzle. Ancestors she forgot how handsome he was when he smiled she felt the urge to kiss him again.

"Not at all... You... You've made me the happiest dragon in the world today... I swear to you... no more unneccessary risks. I will now have a greater care for my own well being... By accepting me as a friend and comrade you gave me something to fight for... Now by accepting me as your mate you've given me something to _live_ for..." Zafra chuckled.

"Well then, all I have to ask is one thing... how much sick leave do you have saved up with the Dracocorps?" Caldor paused for a moment before looking to her curiously.

"About ten months worth... not much reason to take leave when no one wants to see me plus, not really the type to get sick in the first place... why?" Zafra smiled deviously.

"First, once this is over, you'd better request to use it because for the first month of your leave I'm not letting you out of my sight and afterwards, you're going to be needed to stay with me while I'm in a... 'delicate' condition..." Caldor blushed deeply at what she was implying. Seeing him like that, Zafra couldn't resist and deeply kissed him again, tails twining together all the tighter. As they did so, the two lovers were unaware that just outside, George watched with a smile and walked away as the Partisans continued singing.

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Alright! Three cheers for Caldor and Zafra! And three cheers for the Partisans! The Liberation of Launces is near! And three cheers that, for 2016, elections are OVER! No more headaches until March or April! It's going to be all hands on deck for the next few chapters, are you guys on the edge of your seat? If not, then the next few chapters will put you on the edge.

Next Chapter: Resistance: United


	61. Resistance: United

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Hello everyone, glad to see ya'll again... well, you know what I mean. Hope you all had a Merry Christmas. And now, as a late Christmas gift, the new chapter of World Fury.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 60: Resistance: United

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The hooting of the grey owls and chirping of crickets were the only sounds in the woods surrounding the Montague Residence. George gazed to the left and right of him and took comfort in the six Partisans nearby as he eased forward out of the bushes. In the distance by the large wrought iron gate there were two soldiers of the Occupation who were standing guard. He held the card Carmine had given to him and walked towards the gate.

In the event these soldiers were Royalists like Carmine, the card and pass phrase should work. If not...

...that was what the Partisans armed with supressed carbines was for. Insurance.

As he approached, the soldiers tensed and the one on the left took a step forward.

"Halt! Who goes there?" George came forward, hands raised.

"Name's Nick, I have buisiness with the General." The soldier to the right scowled.

"Haven't you heard? The General's under house arrest. No one in or out." George nodded.

"Understood, hey, tell me something, have either of you seen a silver star in the night sky?" The two soldiers looked to one another before they nodded. The one on the left lowered his weapon, snapped a sharp salute, and then turned back to his friend.

"Hey, time to start our rounds along the wall. Make sure none of the General's hounds got out again. Remember what happened to Hailt." This made the right soldier chuckle.

"Yeah, chased the poor bastard for _two hours _before they finally got them coraled again." The left nodded.

"Might as well get a few rounds in before our relief comes. OAC _really_ likes their protocols." As they turned to leave, the right turned back to the left.

"Hey, do you think those guys at the armory we set up in the warehouse near the industrial sector are alright? I mean, if what we have stored there got into the hands of the Partisans, well, I wouldn't want to be on the front lines when _that_ happens." The other nodded.

"Yeah, good thing that those guys are on _our_ side, right? Hey, _which_ warehouse was it again, I keep forgetting." The soldier made an exasperated sigh.

"Number Sixteen remember? You made that joke about the storage space in that place. Something about it being over nine-thousand. By the way, what the hell did you mean by that anyway? I mean was there over nine-thousand crates of ammunition and weapons stored in there? Or was there over nine-thousand crates of high explosives? I swear you say the oddest things sometimes, it's hard to believe that we're related-" George watched the men go around the corner and motioned for the Partisans to come up.

"Alright, we have two hours before the OAC shows up to relieve these guys. Furthermore, I need someone to run back to the base and get Hazzard detail together. There is an armory in Warehouse Sixteen that is guarded by soldiers who are part of the Royalists. Get the detail together, radio the Runners in case they need a quick getaway, and remember the passphrase." One of the Partisans turned and ran back into the woods to the sewer exit they had used and the remaining Partisans walked up to the iron gate. The gate wasn't locked and was held shut by a simple lever which, when lifted, released a mechanism that held tension on the gates so that they opened automatically.

Stepping through the gate, George and the others walked through the garden in front of the manor and came to the door which was locked. George knocked four times and heard the sound of locks being undone on the inside. A moment later, the door opened revealing a Rotarian soldier with a curious expression.

"May I help you?" George nodded.

"Have you ever seen a silver star in the night sky?" The soldier visibly relaxed and nodded. He opened the door to grant them entry and smiled when the last was in and the door shut. He stood before George and gave a sharp, crisp military salute.

"Your Highness, it is an honor. I mean, we rank and file rarely meet anyone above the rank of Major and never anyone in a leadership role like yours. Oh, forgive me. Private First Class Edmund Ringer, the General is in his study. This way, please."

The Partisans were led through the manor house to a large room on the east wing of the building. Along the way, three more Rotarian soldiers came up and, once they saw Ringer nod, they relaxed and fell in step alongside the Partisans. When the reached the large rosewood double doors, the Rotarians took posts on either side of the entryway while Ringer stepped forward and knocked. A muffled reply was heard.

"I said I wished to not be disturbed." The young man cleared his throat.

"General, sir. You have visitors." There was a pause.

"So be it, send them in. Once they're in, close the door and resume your duties. Mustn't attract attention now can we?" Ringer gave a soft laugh and opened the door.

"The General will see you now." George nodded and entered the room. Once he was in, the Partisans elected to remain outside and the door was closed. George turned to see a man sitting at the keyboard of a large grand organ pulling keys and switches before finally starting a small bellows that send calm air through the pipes on the large instrument.

A dark, haunting melody poured from the organ as it started. Being a musician, George recognized it as Christof's Ninth Orcestration, known as the D minor Fugue. It was a piece more commonly played at Vaudville Horror skits. The General rose and the machine connected to the organ kept playing the keys, the dark music filling the room. The elderly man looked to George and motioned for him to take a seat across from where he was going.

As he sat, he removed the top off of a decantur and poured some brandy into two glasses before lighting a fairly large cigar and lit it. The General's expression as he studied George softened. After taking a few drags from it, he removed it from his mouth and set it aside, the smell of rich Praetorian tobacco filling the room. He gave a smile as he took a sip from the glass.

"Forgive the music, Your Highness. I may believe the Rotarians in that they are not on Mechanos' side but that doesn't mean I trust them completely. They are still foreign soldiers on _our_ soil illegally. The D minor Fugue isn't my first choice of music to mask our conversation but alas an OAC bastard destroyed much of my collection of music in an attempt to try and get me to betray intelligence to them." George nodded solumnly. He had long known the General to be a collector of rare and valuable works of music. He had made public his plans to donate it all to a museum when he died so that it would forever endure but that was no longer the case.

"General, you once sent a message to the Resistance cells that, if they could get you vehicles, you would get the students at the academy to help up retake the city?" General Montague nodded.

"Indeed. At the time, I hadn't known that you were in charge of the Partisan cell. Had I known, I wouldn't have spread my limited resources so thin." He took a deep breath.

"My resources are spread across the entire city. I've been in contact with volunteers who snuck into the city to join the Runners, smugglers getting POWs and high-value civilians out if the city without raising too much of a ruckus, and even getting in contact with the police force which has been replaced with the OAC. They're numbers are thin but they still have enough of a presense to try and resist. Now then, while I _do_ have enough volunteers and vehicles to aid you, according to my sources, the Syllian Army is poised to take the city back in a month. Surely we can hold out that long?" George shook his head.

"I'm sorry General, but that's no longer the case. According to intel we recieved from a defector, the OAC has a failsafe weapon and standing orders to destroy the city if it's in danger of being retaken. The failsafe is an atomic bomb of some sort." General Montague coughed in shock, nearly dropping his glass as he turned to George.

"Are you sure?!" He nodded, General Montague cursed.

"The bastards! That's it! I'll break this damn farce and go to the castle and strangle that lilly-livered bastard with his own intestines and then tie them in knots and hang him by them from the Grand Clocktower!" George mentally whistled. He'd always heard from his Father that General Montague was a man who had a way with words and a certain charisma that would have made him an asset to any branch of service. His emotions were always on display except when he wanted to keep them supressed.

General Montague was a religious man who always went into battle with a copy of the sacred texts in one hand and a sword in the other. If he couldn't inspire, coax, or order his men into the fight, he dragged them into it by the scruff of the neck and if not then well...

...one notable moment recorded in his record stated that he literally kicked a man's ass for disobeying orders to run onto a battlefield to recover the wounded still lying in the mud.

George prudently waited for the General to calm down before speaking again.

"Sir, we have a plan in place. Rather than wait for Syllian forces to take the city by the end of the month, I need to unite the diverse cells of the Resistance into one united force and take the city back by the end of the week." General Montague gave him a sharp look.

"Can you do it? Take the city and secure it in a week?" George nodded.

"As we speak, I have a force prepping to raid an armory in the Industrial district, a squad linking up with Wolf's Den to sabotage some of the anti-air guns to give our dragons a fighting chance, and agents trying to contact the Tunnel Rats in the Castle District, Colonel Falcyion, the Launces Police Department, and Gordon Calawai." General Montague looked up at that.

"Your Highness, an old man's advice? Calawai, he may be a hell of a fighter but don't trust him as far as you can throw him. In human form, not dragon form." George looked to him.

"Think he's a spy?" Montague shook his head.

"Hell no. It's just... a man like that; fights the enemy, no holes barred, works best when left alone? He probably has some skeletons in his closet or something he would prefer remain hidden. Remember that incident nine years ago in Royalis?" George nodded slowly.

Nine years ago, several members of the Royal Knights, men who, for security purposes, kept their faces and identities concealed when they were on duty protecting the King and Queen, attempted to assassinate a high ranking member of the nobility. The plot had almost succeeded except for a loyal knight who, when he heard of the plot, intercepted the men and fought them off, being gravely wounded in the process.

Of the nine knights who were confirmed in the plot, only eight were found and arrested. The lone knight who had fought them off of their target also vanished without a trace. Rumors abound about the two but no trace of them has been found since.

General Montague rose and stepped towards a bookcase near the far end of the room, grabbed a seemingly nondescript book, and then bringing it over to George.

"Now then, unless I'm getting senile in my old age, I believe your two hours grace is almost up. I'm not in the habit of lending items in my collection out to just anyone but I think this book will have great interest to you. It's no secret that the Castle District is all but sealed off to prevent the Resistance from gaining a foothold and doing something more than these little 'nuisenses' that the Tunnel Rats are behind. But, there is, I believe, another way in."

George opened the book and saw a small piece of thin, nearly transparant paper folded into the spine near the center. When he opened it, he saw a line that went from one side of the paper to the other starting at the lower right corner, took a few corners, and then terminated close to the upper left corner. General Montague smiled.

"I believe the truth comes into focus when observed over a map of Launces." George's eyes widened as he looked up to him.

"The old Catacombs..." General Montague nodded.

"Like Father... like son... Also, there is an offshoot in there that leads to the old academy, you know, the one that was destroyed by fire but never rebuilt? There are some old untouched tanks in the basement near the armored combat training grounds." George nodded.

"The T7-Lt's right? I'm aware of them. The Academy used them for trainers until the T10s came into production and the T8s became obsolete." Montague nodded.

"When you have those tanks, send word to the students at the academy and I. We shall aid you in retaking our home." George nodded as the music from the organ ground to a halt and he saluted.

"Thank you General. I look forward to fighting alongside you in the coming days." The old man chuckled.

"Likewise lad. Likewise. I'll probably be the only general who could claim having fought alongside James de Launces in the Federation War and the Dalon Conflict, and now his son." George nodded and left the room, the Rotarian soldiers nodding as he and the Partisans left and resuming their routines just as the OAC came in to relieve them.

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Hazzard walked alongside a portly Rotarian supply sergeant who was going through the supply list. It was comical in its own way. The Rotarians, with the exception of bare nods, sharp salutes, and quick smiles, ignored the Partisans. Those who had intel to share did so as if they were speaking to a fellow soldier, paying no heed to the nearby Partisans who were also nearby listening in on every word said.

The supply sergeant was going through the list, speaking certain items aloud and, at quick glances to Hazzard to see what supplies he was interested in, had a squad of men ready to unpack the crate, confirm the contents, repack and send the crates outside to both vehicles where the Runners were waiting, or to where Zafra and Caldor waited to carry large crates of supplies into the Underground through a hole knocked through the floor in an abandoned building.

Once or twice, Hazzard got a glint in his eye when the supply sergeant listed a few things and payed particular interest to any high explosives, shaped charges, or incendiaries. The group had arrived and identified themselves around midnight and by 2:30 the group came to the end of the warehouse and the supply sergeant nodded.

"Now then, to keep the OAC from getting suspicious or worried, I'll fill out the papers saying that all this was transferred to another armory that is under our control. Heh, damn bastards think we're all singing off the same song sheet. It's enough to make me laugh." Hazzard chuckled himself.

"Yeah, you got that right. Now, since we're on the subject of being on the same side, do you have any spare Rotarian uniforms?" The sergeant looked around and nodded.

"Yeah, Lot no. 44578. Let's see... yeah, sixteen hundred spare wool and cloth complete uniforms. That means undershirts, chain jackets, long overcoats, helmets, trousers, greaves, vambraces, ammo bandoleers, and steel-reinforced boots. I don't know how many you'll need but I can give you the whole damn lot of 'em. OAC only cares about the explosive stuff, and last I checked, uniforms weren't exploding off our soldiers." Hazzard nodded and then turned to one of the Partisans with him.

"Get these uniforms ready and get to the textile and clothing factory here in Industrial. If we are to retake our city, a lot of us would rather go into battle wearing Syllian blue. There _should_ still be some blue clothing dye left over to brighten these uniforms up a smidge." The sergeant looked at Hazzard and nodded.

"Well, if you're going to dye the uniforms, make sure you let the dye set and dry before wearing them otherwise you won't just be wearing blue, you _will_ be blue." Hazzard chuckled and nodded to him before turning and leaving.

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A lone clock on the wall was the only sound in the room. Gordon Calawai held the missive in his hand from George de Launces, now confirmed by the Resistance as the defacto leader of all the independant cells. He slowly crumpled the letter in his hand, tossed it into the fireplace and rose from his chair and walked to the ancient candlestick holder in the library. Considering that the house was indeed powered, an old candle lamp was an oddity, yet visitors always overlooked it because it fit the decor of the old home.

Or visitors would if Calawai actually entertained people.

If any studied the object closely, they would have detected the latch hidden behind the object. A swift tug from Calawai unlocked the dead bolt that held the panel of wall shut against prying eyes. He reached inside and pulled an old dusty longsword from the hidden room and experimentally drew it, regaining the familiarity of holding the blade. He hefted the blade and then peered into the room and sighed.

"So... once more into the fray... perhaps... perhaps it is time..."

To be continued...

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Alright everyone, the time is drawing ever near. Forces are closing on Launces and the Resistance is getting ready to make the move. Are you as psyched about the upcoming chapters as I am? Oh what am I saying of course you are.

Next Chapter: Resistance: The Second Battle of Launces


	62. The Second Battle for Launces, Part 1

I'm writing this in case I haven't edited my previous chapter to state it but, in the event of all that has happened in Berlin, Germany, my prayers are with the victims of that senseless attack.

I don't know when I'll post this, maybe after Christmas, or perhaps New Years, but it shall be posted soon.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 61: The Second Battle of Launces, Part I

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"Okay, fire her up!"

One of the students spun the flywheel on the old T7 tank. It spun once, twice, three times before the built up steam finally started making its way through the old engine. The pistons, usually covered by a thin metal 'hat' started rising and falling in rhythm. The large flywheel turned a smaller on along a belt which ran the engine. If George's calculations were correct, there was enough water in the tank housed under the frame to power the war machine for roughly four hours.

Even _he_ wasn't confident enough to entertain the notion that they could take the city in four hours. Still, gazing around, he was glad they had some armor rather than none. All in all, they had roughly 46 working T7 tanks. The latest intel that Lieutenant Carmine had gotten for them was that the Occupation had twenty tanks on standby but the OAC had commandeered the rest and had actually immobilized several to create makeshift roadblocks since the Runners had started to become more active in the past three days.

While Hazzard was prepping explosives to use to blow up the roadblocks, the uniforms they had secured were almost finished, the Partisans and the Academy students were working quickly to fix what T7 tanks were salvagable. The Partisans who were skilled mechanically were busy using components scavenged to repair any weapons that needed repairs and also reloading rounds. The Royalist soldiers had also been willing to work, discreetly of course.

Nothing large or flashy, just small things like leaving persons of interest unguarded for a time so that the Partisans could evacuate them, leaving doors in certain buildings unlocked and unguarded, sending OAC forces to patrol other parts of the city while the Resistance worked in the areas they had vacated. Thanks to this, and the fact that they had finally learned that the nuclear failsafe was housed in the castle, George felt that they were ready to start.

He glanced back to his watch and saw that it was now five in the morning, most of Launces was still asleep, the Royalists were on watch in the Tower and the Midtown Keep, waiting for the signal that, once it was given, they would open the gates, turn what weapons and cannons were functioning onto OAC positions and buildings, and support the Resistance. The Runners and other cells had been going around telling the people of the city to take shelter in the Underground and keep clear of the streets for the next few days.

He nodded to the student, then stepped down from the tank and made his way over to the group of people he was taking into the catacombs with him. There was Miles, of course, Amber, the young woman who had rescued him all those months ago, then there was Grant, Edwards, Carson, and Angela.

George grimaced as he recalled the arguement she had used to get to go with him on this part of the operation. During the time between the fall of Launces and the operation at the hospital, she had seen many horrible things. She was determined not to be separated from him again. Lastly, he saw Lieutenant Carmine himself. The young officer's uniform was the same as the standard Rotarian uniform, with only one exception. Around the left sleeve was a tricolored gold, white, and silver band pinned to the upper arm.

In the sidearm holster on his left hip was a PP31k, a small compact sidearm that was the standard for the Intelligence Corps. The weapon drawing the most attention though was the one slung over his back.

Carmine noticed George's glances at his weapon and unslung it for him to examine.

"It's a new weapon that Mechanos created for the infantry. Supposedly, it's purpose is to replace not only the standard infantry rifle but also the submachinegun and the light machinegun. He calls it the _Sturmgewehr_ or 'Assault Rifle'. These weapons are supposed to be making their way to frontline units sometime within the next few months." George looked to him.

"How many soldiers in Launces are equipped with these weapons?"

"Not many, maybe sixty or seventy. I said it is currently being examined by the branches to find any flaws in the design and as such is only deployed in limited numbers. A lot of the old guard are hesitant, to put it mildly, about replacing such weapons that have been a military staple for almost twenty years. Their tactics rely on machineguns pinning down soldiers for submachine gunners and riflemen to close with the enemy ranks and attack. Not only is this weapon not as accurate as a rifle but the fire rate is slower than an SMG but the recoil is greater because it uses a completely new round."

"What new round?" Carmine held up some bullets he had kept in his coat.

"The big one here is a rifle round, it's a 7.92mm. Our SMGs use 9mm. These new rifles use a cut down rifle round called the 7.62mm. Same size as the rifle but just not as long. Less power equals less range, less stopping power, and plus difficulties in retooling factories to produce the new round." George nodded and then turned to see the others milling about.

"Okay everyone, gather round. We'll go over the plan one more time." George unrolled a city map as the students and other Partisans gathered near.

"Alright. First, my group will leave through the catacombs and make our way to the Castle District. Once that's done, we'll find the bomb and hopefully be able to disarm or neutralize it. Then we'll work to retake the castle, when we succeed, we will restore power to the grand clocktower and set it to alarm mode. The ringing of the bell will be the signal for the Royalists to show their true colors and fight back against the OAC." He pointed to the Tower and the Midtown Keep.

"It'll also be the signal for the tanks to start rolling and for our forces throughout the city to start attacking. Once the garrisons in the Tower and the Midtown Keep catch sight of the tanks they are to open the gates and allow them through. This plan does not secure the entire city but it simply captures points most vital and also neutralizes the biggest advantage the OAC holds." As the Partisans nodded, a young man came running towards them, an expression of pure excitement on his face.

"Your Highness, we were able to get word out. The Royal Army is holding off it's advance but His Majesty has assembled an Airborne assault that is to parachute into the city at ten o'clock. The message also said that elements of the Launces First Air Wing will be escorting the transports." George smiled.

"In that case. Brooks, the flag." A young Partisan came left for a moment and then came running back with a folded flag in his arms. George took the flag and then motioned for Miles to take it.

"This was the old flag that flew from the castle's main tower. It's the highest point in the city. Once we start the bells in the clocktower chiming, we'll then leave there and proceed up the main tower to the top floor. Once there, we lower that eyesore the Rotarians have there and raise this flag in it's place. The flag alone should suffice to prove that the castle district is back in our hands." Grant looked to George and then to the map.

"The flag might very well serve, but all the same, I've managed to get one of those portable Rotarian radios. Once we raise the flag over the city, I'll start broadcasting on the Syllian frequency. That'll let the boys in the transports know what parts of the city are under our control and what's still hostile." George nodded.

"Good thinking. Alright, I make the time at 5:45. We'd best be off. Once the tanks are rolling, they won't be able to stop for anything. The charges Hazzard made will be placed by Wolf's Den on several key anti-air positions throughout the city. Once they are detonated, Caldor and Zafra will have free reign throughout the skies over the city." He took a moment more to glance around at his soldiers, his comrades, his Partisans who had been with him throughout this time of Launces' occupation. Now he was going home.

"All right, let's go."

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The smell of horses was nothing new to Caldor as he waited for the signal to be given. He glanced to his side to see Zafra laying beside him, sleeping peacefully with barely a sound. He entertained thoughts of what it would be like after the war. He wondered if James, Lysa, Ignitus and Thera, especially her, truly didn't mind him being Zafra's mate. Still, a darker thought wondered what would happen once it became public knowledge. There were those among even the Partisans who still called him the 'Traitor's Son'. No doubt there would be opposition among the other Dracocorps dragons and Dragoons once word got out.

Then he thought of his Mother. What would _she_ think of it? Would she try and crawl back into his life just as quickly as she had clawed her way out of it? Would she laugh and scoff about her 'son'? Or would she simply remain as she'd always been: cold and resentful?

He glanced down at Zafra and focused his senses on her, breathing in her scent which, to his mind, was far better than the smell of the some six dozen horses milling around nearby. The first he sensed that someone was approaching was the metal 'clank' of the artificial leg. He recognized it instantly.

Out of all the 'old soldiers' of the 8th Cavalry, only Colonel Edward Falcyion, whose leg had been lost not due to battle but to an illegal honor duel over a woman in his youth, had the guts to speak to Caldor. It was what made Caldor willing to listen to his orders. Falcyion was kind, didn't give a damn who his parents were, and had said the moment he met him, point blank that: _'you choose to fight alongside me in the coming fray then you are no son of no traitor, you are a son of _**Syllia **_as are we all children of our nation, the guardians of our city and home, let no one, man or dragon, tell you different'._

Because of this fake leg, the Colonel had a distinctive gait. He stepped with his right leg, then the cane he always carried, then he swung his leg in a motion that when the knee joint 'clicked', he stepped down. He would have made a damn good actor the way he seemingly 'walked' with a metal leg. When mounting his horse, a great white mare named for his deceased wife, Maria, he would holster his right leg in the stirrup and swing his entire body weight over the horse and hook his left leg into the saddle brace made to keep him upright.

Caldor hesitantly broke his gaze from Zafra's sleeping form and turned his head to the old man who was coming towards them. When he neared, he stopped and glanced at Zafra and smiled. The old man, like all his soldiers, were dressed in their old cavalry uniforms: a double-breasted bright blue long overcoat with gold buttons all the way down to weapon belt in which was a holster with a matching set of rosewood revolvers and an incredible gold and blue velvet-lined cavalry sabre. His trousers were of the same blue as his coat and had gols stripes down the sides ending with his knee-height black leather riding boots.

Colonel Falcyion came up and nodded to Zafra before turning to Caldor.

"It is good that she can get some sleep before we go to war. Some of the younger men are of the same mind." Caldor nodded.

"Tell me Colonel? I thought that-" Falcyion chuckled and cut him off, knowing what he was about to ask.

"Some of the men are indeed 'old soldiers' like I am but for the rest, their fathers and their grandfathers served in the Eighth. Since they are either unable to answer to call to horse or are long since dead and buried, how can I turn away those who wish to ride with us to retake our home?" Caldor sighed and looked to the horses.

"This war isn't like the ones you fought Colonel. The enemy now knows what to do against cavalry-mounted attacks. You charge in recklessly, they'll turn machineguns or automatic cannons on you and cut your entire charge to pieces." Colonel Falcyion smiled at that.

"Well then, all the more incentive for you and Lady Zafra there to destroy those threats before they can target us. Do not think me so unused to the way wars change, Caldor, I was there that day, long ago, at Callen's Hill when the Federation cut our entire cavalry charge to pieces with their meatgrinder machineguns. If not for James de Launces' bravery and skill with artillery, I would not have survived the battle after getting my horse shot out from under me. That day everything we knew about warfare, every rule and law we developed over the past two-hundred years, was thrown out the window. The horse-mounted cavalry was no longer the most feared thing on the battlefield." The Colonel looked to his pocketwatch.

"You'd best get some rest while you can as well Caldor, we've a while yet before we are called up." Colonel Falcyion turned and walked away as Caldor turned to look at Zafra again and laying his head down next to hers.

_(I wonder how far George has gotten by now...)_ He sighed and closed his eyes and went into a half doze.

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When he was young, George had always been forbidden to go down into the catacombs by his Father. Even though the Federation War was almost fourty years ago, the horrors and wounds were still here. The group had reached the passageway where, long ago, James de Launces had discovered the fates of his parents and siblings. The stone here was still stained with the blood that had been spilled all those years ago.

Despite the feelings this place gave George, he knew that they were now in the castle. All they had to do now was to find the secret entrance. Following the passage a little further, he found a slab of stone that was different than the stone throughout the passageway and gave a slight nudge to it. He smiled when he felt the stone give a little and nodded to the others with him.

"Carmine, before we exit here, how many of the soldiers inside are Royalists?"

"Including myself and my uncle, roughly six officers and twenty enlisted. The rest are Mechanos' men and the OAC. That means we are outnumbered at least three to one. However, patrols change pretty regularly so we may be in a better position as my Uncle usually sends out the Loyalists on patrol more regularly than our troops. Either way, the passage lets out on the ground floor, right? Well, all the enlisted on this level are ours and the officers are quartered in the northeast tower." George nodded at that and motioned for Miles to help him open the door.

The sound of grating stone was loud to George, all things considered, but they kept it up, managing to push the stone door all the way open and stepping out into a side hall in the castle. Carmine went first and left the tunnel, checking to the left and right before nodding to the others while filed out one at a time until they were in the hall and George eased the stone back into place.

"Alright Carmine, where's the failsafe?"

"Basement. The old wine cellar." George nodded, Miles groaned.

"I hope you Rotarians didn't pillage the stores down there. The de Launces family had many vintages dating all the way back to the early seventeen hundreds." Carmine flinched and glanced away.

"Sorry. The wine cellar was declared 'spoils of war' by the OAC and several high ranking officers. If it's any consolation, my Uncle forbid the looting of the castle for fear of galvanizing the people into rash action. Everything should be just as Your Highness left it." George nodded but Miles was devestated.

"The wine cellar was an art display in and of itself. Everything listed according to date, region, ingredients, and who made it. James de Launces used to allow me to take a bottle every now and again so that I could try and replicate the techniques of wine makers, distillers, and brewers who passed on long ago and took their secrets to the grave with them." He sighed.

"I was to start work on the wine maker Gustav Remone. There was even a bottle of his famous 1818 Honey Apple Champaigne down there. Not to mention an original Edward Thaddeus Metzk 1784 Cognac, a 1812 Calkan Merlot, a bottle of the _very_ rare Susano Aganichi 1820 Sake... I could go on but I doubt any of you wish to see a grown man cry." Carmine chuckled.

"Oh, there's wine down there? The troops just went for the high proof stuff, whiskey, brandy, things like that. You Syllians gave many an officer in the Rotarian Army a drinking problem after the defense you put up of the city." Miles snorted.

"Barbarians..." A cough got their attention and the group turned to see six Rotarian soldiers standing there with curious expressions, glancing from Carmine to the offier with them and then back to Carmine.

"Lieutenant, are these-?" Carmine nodded.

"Yes, these are my contacts. Now, where's my Uncle and where's Terref?" The young officer saluted.

"Sir, your Uncle is in his quarters, as is the 'good' Captain. Mason, there's been a... complication..." Carmine became serious.

"What do you mean?"

"Sir... The OAC... I don't know is we have a traitor amongst our own or if the Partisans do but... Terref, he knows of your involvement... He doesn't know who all's involved but he suspected your Uncle and placed him under guard." Carmine grew grim.

"If he suspected my Uncle, then why tell him about the location of the failsafe?" Laughter got their attention.

"I told him because there was no harm in doing so. At least, I didn't suspect so at the time." The group turned to see roughly thirty OAC soldiers alongside a man with Captain's bars standing there grinning like a man who had just gotten everything he'd ever asked for all at once. George snarled.

"Captain Terref of the OAC, I presume?" Terref nodded.

"Indeed... So, the traitor, the leaders of the Partisans, and all in one day. I must say you've all played your parts well. I especially loved planting that little kernal of fear about an atomic weapon. Hah! As if I'd be a fool enough to _actually_ arm the device should I have recieved one. No... the plan is much, much simpler. Once the Syllian forces arrive, we'll use the long-range cannons on the _Chimera,_ which I have requested in lue of a nuclear device, to level the city while they're celebrating it's recapture! Unfortunately, you traitors and _heroes_ will have to remain here." George took a deep breath and glanced to Miles and Angela who understood the glance and edged away from him. Biding his time to start shifting, he looked to Terref who was so far into his gloating he remained unaware who George was or that he was already a few inches taller and his voice going deeper.

"So then, there really was no atomic failsafe?" Terref scoffed.

"Of course not. I said already I'm _far_ to attached to living. No, I plan on crushing your force, then returning to Rotiart a hero to live outthe rest of my days in comfort worthy of my status." George smiled.

"Just checking." Terref glanced at him curiously.

"Just what do you mean by-"

Terref was cut off abruptly as George dropped his weapon blinked his eyes, shifting them with that blink to unnerve his enemies and growled once before shifting into his dragon form. Having been warned at that glance, Miles and Angela pulled the others back just as his form expanded. His wings, folded, touched both sides of the hallway, his tail, while shorter than his brothers, was still long enough to reach down the hallway dividing it in half, his double broadaxe-shaped tailblade actually cracking the stone with its weight, and his head, along with the five large horns that 'crowned' him stopped at the roof of the hall.

Unlike the others of his family, George's scales _were_ silver but had undertones of red and green around the scale edges. His eyes in human form had been a solid blue but now that he shifted they took on the appearance of his siblings, swirled silver and blue and his had a menacing red backtone. The Partisans had the satisfaction of seeing Terref at an absolute loss for words as George shifted. The OAC soldiers didn't know what they were seeing and more than one lowered their weapons in dumbstruck silence. George then looked down at the terrified humans and snorted.

"I am George de Launces, Crown Prince of Syllia; and I will _not_ allow your plans to succeed!" Terref moved a muscle to protest or give the order to fire but George breathed deep and let loose a mights roar before whatever Terref had planned to do could happen. The roar was so forceful and powerful that it created a wind which bowled the OAC troops and their Captain over in a heartbeat. Terref, unsurprisingly, was first to his feet and off like a shot in the opposite direction of George's dragon form. George then glanced back to the Partisans and the Royalist soldiers.

"Partisans of Launces, Rise and Fight!"

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To be continued...

Next Chapter: The Second Battle of Launces, Part II


	63. The Second Battle for Launces, Part 2

Well, it's almost 2017. My new year's resolution is quite simple. I plan to complete a few of these stories I've started and have for numerous reasons put on hold. Well, here's hoping I can actually get a few done.

FYI: I'm not sure if the translation is accurate and I'd be glad for a more precise translation if any of my readers speak German. As I understand it, Ritter is German for Knight. If this is incorrect or if there is another term please let me know.

Also, if anyone knows the translation of Squire in German, I'd be most appreciative.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 62: The Second Battle of Launces, Part II

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_"Attention all flights, due to the loss of contact with the Partisan cells in Launces, we are to advance our orders. All aircraft prepare to take off and make a heading for Launces. Transports will deploy paratroopers to assist the ground forces while the escorts will begin attacking hostile ground forces. Be aware, due to reports stating the enemy land battleship _Chimera_ is in the area of the city, His Majesty has also given the green light for Project Indomitable to be deployed. Launces First Air Wing, you have the honor of leading the formation."_

_ "Lieutenant-Colonel Bertram de Launces, callsign Paladin, begin final launch procedures."_

Bertram smiled a bit at that as he flipped some switches on the panel. Slowly, the new engine spun up to full power, the large five-bladed propellor spun slowly in a clockwise direction as the drive shaft started turning. Placing his left hand on the throttle, he slowly pushed it forward, the engine pitch changing from a dull roar to a high pitched whine. He felt pulled into his seat as the P-31d rolled down the runway. As he passed the flight control tower and saw the cheering civilians of Royalis lining the airbase, he locked the throttle to full power and flipped the red switch next to it, engaging the supercharger.

Flames shot from the exhaust pipes and the rpm of the engine rocketed into the red zone. The plane, with little need for him to touch the stick, rose into the sky. The latest incarnation of the P-31 had reinforced armor, improved weapons, and a new engine, the RL34 which had a special gear, a turbocharger, that pushed the plane faster than any other aircraft before it. While the various types of jets were being examined and the R&amp;D department was working on decyphering the chemical composition of the new jet fuel that Tullinar had sent along with one of their prototypes, the military had been busy updating the aircraft currently in service.

In return for all they had done, the Launces First Air Wing was first on the list to receive the new updated planes.

Bertram climbed to 800 feet and waited for his wing to join him. Once they were in formation, he keyed the radio.

"Paladin to all aircraft, form up around me and then assume defensive pattern around the transports. Black Knight, I'd like for E Squadron to form up on my left." Dieter chuckled through the radio.

_"Very well Paladin, but I'd like to point something out... Black Knight was the callsign given to me under Mechanos' command. Now that the Rotarian Royal Military-in-Exile has been officially recognized, I've decided to retake the callsign I used during the Callinar Incursion: Ritter."_ Bertram nodded at the good fit but then thought of something.

"Ritter... isn't that your son's callsign?" The radio crackled again.

_"It was but... well... I decided to pick another since Dieter... I mean... Dad wanted to use it again. My new callsign is Squire."_ Bertram smiled.

"Very well. Ritter, please have your squadron form up on my left. It'll be your's and mine that protects the transports until they're finished dropping the troops."

_"Understood. It would be an honor."_

Bertram angled towards Launces, his resolve and nerves steadied and steeled_._

_ (Here we come George. We're coming home.)_

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Bullets bounced off George's scales as he shielded the Partisans and soldiers behind him from the OAC attack. His body was large enough to act as a barrier, his scales strong enough to stop everything short of cannon rounds. The grenades still stung a bit but the pistol rounds the OAC were using just bounced off. The Partisans meanwhile, sheltered behind his body, using his legs as pillars, his tail as a barrier, effectively, and accurately, returned fire.

George normally didn't like remaining still in dragon form, his instincts were screaming at him to go on the offensive, to charge towards the Rotarian soldiers and rip them to pieces. Yet for this one time he fought against them, the simple reason was he didn't mind it. The shock and horror on the faces of the soldiers of the OAC every time their bullets bounced or deflected off his scales in a shower of sparks pleased him. For the first time since the city had fallen, he felt he had the upper hand against the hostiles. He reasoned: so what if he was a shield instead of a sword this time around? This battle was for his home, and the best way to win it was to ensure that as many of his allies survived as possible.

His mind raced, quickly coming together with a diagram of the castle in his head. Currently, they were in the entryway. To send the signal for the tanks to start the attack, they'd have to advance into the foyer, head up to the second floor, and from there start the climb up the eight floors to the mechanical room and start the clock and the bell. George turned his head to the soldiers.

"Prepare to advance forward! We must send the signal to our allies!"

Advancing was difficult at first. As he moved, his tail moved back and forth. Soldiers taking cover behind his tail had to scramble to whatever cover was nearby and those taking cover by his legs had to cease attacking to keep up with his stride. It quickly became a rythmn. Right foreleg forward, Miles would run, catch up and fire a burst. Left foreleg forward, Grant would advance. Right hindleg forward, Amber would run forward, take a knee, and fire a deadly shot from her scoped rifle. Left hindleg forward, Carmine would charge forward and fire a few rounds. The process repeated time and again.

Those who had been using his tail for cover followed close behind him, firing shots whenever they could. By the time they reached the end of the hall, the remaining foes had broke and run, leaving their path to the second floor unobstructed. Checking to make sure the coast was clear, George returned to human form and glanced at the stunned Royalists. Carmine had tempered his surprise while they were fighting but now he openly showed his shock.

"So, the stories about the de Launces family are indeed true. Despite all evidence to the contrary, there are many in Rotiart who believed that a family of humans capable of shifting into dragons was pure fiction, a Syllian lie to discourage war and conflict." George chuckled at that.

"Technically that is the reverse. We are a family of dragons who just prefer to live out our lives as humans unless we, or those we care about, are threatened. I don't know if you heard or not but during the Damoneni Campaign, my younger brother, Joshua, destroyed a Rotarian battlecruiser while in dragon form." Carmine's eyes were wide as platters at that and he shook his head.

"No, we hadn't heard that. Mechanos... he squelched all news regarding the Damoneni Campaign after recieving word that they had put up next to no resistance when the Syllian forces landed troops to liberate Tullinar. He felt it too much of an embarrassment but still kept a force in the area to cover his bases." George nodded.

"Well, there's no way he'll be able to stop word of this day from spreading." Carmine nodded.

"Indeed not. Still, I am concerned about what Terref said. There may not be an atomic failsafe but the _Chimera_ is still in range of the city. What if they start shelling the city while the tanks are still trying to make it in? You _saw_ what just _one_ if those large-caliber shells did to the outer wall _and_ the Tower. There's no defence against something like that." George shrugged.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, let's just focus on things that are within our control."

The group made their way to the base of the tower and, noting a lack of OAC troops, climbed the stairs cautiously. Upon reaching the sixth floor of the tower, they noticed a small trap had been rigged close to the stairs. This small charge led to a large wire that ran to more explosives lining the supports of the tower. Carmine, thankfully, knew about this type of explosive and was able to disarm it with ease. Then George pointed to the machinery at the top floor.

The clock tower of Castle Launces housed a _massive_ clock. The inner workings, the mainspring, gears, bearings and weights all fit on the seventh floor in a massive jigsaw puzzle that likely only a de Launces, or an _extremely_ perceptive human, could have decyphered. In the near center of the room there was a control panel that worked the clock and the bell.

"Alright everyone, when I throw these switches, cover your ears because this is going to get loud."

George pulled a series of three levers. The first started the main clock which, since the attack on the city, had been stuck at 11:59. The second lever removed the brakes on the main shaft, allowing the minute hand to slowly start rotating up towards the twelve. The third and last lever was the bell alarm lever. Just as the clock clicked together at 12 sharp, George pulled the third lever and covered his ears.

A series of gears spun rapidly, lifting the twin hammers on either side of the massive bell dead center of the top floor. The gears slowed down as the hammers reached a 45 degree angle and then the catch released and the hammers swung down, striking the bell.

_BONG!_

George felt his teeth rattle in his skull. He also heard people near him moan as the loud noise reverberated throughout the room. He glanced up just in time to see the clappers finish rising again just to fall once more.

_BONG!_

George motioned for the others to get out of the tower, the bell was currently at the alarm setting which meant it would keep ringing until someone shut it off again, or someone blew up the tower. He spared a moment to glance through the large clock face before him.

_(General, the time has come...)_

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_BONG!_

_ ..._

_ BONG!_

_ ..._

_ BONG!_

_ ..._

_ BONG!_

_ ..._

The ringing of the bell got everyone's attention. Without a word, everyone turned to General Montague who stood at the lead tank, clad in his bright blue tank uniform with his white helmet, distinctive from the other soldiers and their grey metal helms. The General drew himself up and faced the tanks and armored cars arrayed behind him.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, start your engines!"

A young cadet with the rank of Corporal climbed about the General's tank and started turning the flywheel that acted as the starter. After the initial spin, it spun once, twice more, then with a spluttering cough, the engine started. The Corporal then saluted the General and took his place manning the traversion gears of the main gun. The T7s, once they got started, could only be stopped by pulling the two levers in the open driver's cab. Otherwise, they would just keep rolling forward. General Montague turned to his driver who was looking up from behind the cab.

"Forward, march!" The young driver nodded and, gripping both brake levers, released the catches and let the levers slide forward into the OFF position.

With the sound of grinding gears, clanking metal track links, and rattling wheels and axles, the tank started off, soon followed by the rest of the formation. General Montague took a moment to gaze at the formation before remembering to reach up to the smokestack above the engine and open the vent, releasing a column of white smoke. This was mimicked by the rest of the tanks and billowing clouds of smoke and steam, the old tanks rolled towards the Tower and the first gate into Launces.

However, as they reached the road, four tanks with OAC markings appeared from the gate. General Montague growled angrily as he recognized their types: three T9-L light tanks trainers, and one M-A7V medium tank trainer. Syllian tanks.

"Hostile tanks ahead. Target the largest one, bearing five degrees right. Load cannon."

The two soldiers did as they were told. The first soldier, the Corporal from before, opened the box he had been sitting on and removed a 30mm 'Brick' round from the crate. He then opened the breach, slid the round in, closed the breach, and nodded to the second soldier who turned the small traversion gear which turned the cannon itself and not the turret to the five degree mark.

"Range: fifteen hundred."

This time the soldier reached over for the elevation gear and rotated the cannon up to the three degree mark and then looked to the General.

"Hostile tank bearing five degrees right, range fifteen hundred, elevation three degrees. Ready to fire sir!" General Montague nodded.

"Fire." The second soldier pulled the lanyard.

The cannon went off with a loud _bang_ that rattled the General's teeth. He watched as the barrel slid backwards, then as the recoil springs stopped the backwards motion and slammed the cannon back into the original firing position. He glance at the tank he had called out and watched as the 30mm round struck the slanted armor on the front of the tank, punching a fist-sized hole through the front armor. Fire and smoke immediately blew out of the top hatch and the tank stopped dead in its tracks, the sound of ammunition inside cooking off as the fire inside grew stronger.

Beside them, three other tanks had opened fire. The first tank fired on the T9 closest to the M-A7V, likewise punching a hole through the forward armor and setting the engine and fuel tank ablaze. The second tank fired a shell but the angle was wrong. The shell struck the right tread; a 'mobility kill', as it was called. The metal tread links clanked as they fell off the wheels, the left tread now turning the tank hard to the right, showing its weaker, larger side profile to the tanks. A second shell blew a hole straight through the tank, killing the three man crew.

The third and final T9 managed to get a shot off but apparently the Rotarian crew was unused to Syllian weaponry. The shell went high and clipped the smokestack of a tank on the far right flank of the formation. This allowed the last lead tank to fire its cannon. This round sailed true and struck the turret, detonating the magazine. The small turret was blown upwards in a ball of fire, the force of the explosion shearing bolts and 'banana peeling' the entire front of the tank. The armored front was folded half over itself, the sides were blown out, and the front axle was split, making the tank's front dip down into the ground.

What made it noteworthy was that the engine was still functioning, driving the tank forward until the treads finally came off the wheels, the corpse of the driver still ludicrously enough sitting upright at the controls, wreathed in flames.

As the group passed the formation, the gates of the outer wall slowly creaked open. There on the other side were sixteen of the tanks freed by the Royalists, ready for action. The CO of the Tower saluted General Montague but showed worry on his face.

"We arrested a traitor this morning. He's informed Terref and the OAC about everything. An army of OAC soldiers and Mechanos Loyalists attacked, and retook, the Midtown Keep, Grand Gate, and the Castle District Keep. No matter what happens now, I'm afraid we've got one helluva slog in front of us." General Montague grimaced and the Corporal with him cursed.

"Snafu..." General Montague, rather than chastising the young man, nodded.

"Situation Normal: All Fucked Up."

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"Rise up, comrades! To horse! To horse! For freedom we're going into battle!"

"In the field a man can choose his course! For his heart will be judged in the saddle!"

"No other man can take your place; in the fray, you alone, your fears must face!"

Zafra found herself humming along with the men of the 8th Cavalry as they mounted up and prepared to ride, their voices joined together to sing the Cavalryman's Anthem. In the distance, the loud noise of the bell kept sounding throughout the city. She could also glance towards the Tower and see the tanks beginning to stream forth through the open gate. What made her curious was that the Midtown Keep gates remained shut. She nudged Caldor from his half doze and spoke her worry to him. He nodded. The sound of the bell was unmistakable. It was the signal that all Royalist officers had agreed would be the signal to throw open the gates and let the Resistance take the city.

"Stay with the Colonel, I'll cloak myself and fly over to the keep to investigate." Zafra nodded.

"Please be careful." Caldor nodded.

"For you, always."

With a beat of his wings he took off, then to the amazement of all watching, used his light element to seemingly vanish from sight. Zafra snarled as she heard more than one man mutter that 'the traitor is running' and turned to face the men who had said as much.

"No he's not, he goes to see why the gates aren't opening. He's putting himself in harm's way to ensure that you don't charge into something you aren't prepared for." That at least shut the men up for the moment. Zafra using her senses, was able to faintly detect Caldor as he flew above the Midtown Keep.

Suddenly, an air raid siren split the sky, drowning out even the bell from the castle. At once everyone looked up and cheered, seeing Syllian aircraft overhead, paratroopers leaping from the open doors. Then, suddenly cannonfire erupted from the Midtown Keep as the flak guns stationed at the Keep opened fire on the transports flying overhead. Colonel Falcyion paled.

"The Keep has been retaken by the enemy! We must ride to retake it immediately!"

Artillery from the Keep also started pounding the road and, much to Zafra's horror, the tanks were steadily advancing, their small cannons still out of range for them to target the fort. She turned to Falcyion.

"Sound the charge Colonel, I'm going to help Caldor and the others!" Colonel Falcyion nodded and turned to rally his men. Just as Zafra prepared to launch herself into the air, she saw a blast of light split the sky and saw it rake the artillery on the Midtown Keep. Her heart leapt as she saw Caldor drop from the clouds, cloaking gone, and firing light bursts into the Keep. Then she saw him land before the keep, and then somethine extraordinary.

Mana flowed from around Caldor to a focal point before him and he fired a light beam so massive in scale and so powerful it charred the stone face of the fort, shattered windows, caved in the wooden gate, melted the wrought iron portcullis behind it, and from the loud _BANG!_ that reverberated from inside the city, he had also blown the second gate in the back of the Keep off its hinges.

Just as she rose to fly over to him to help, her heart skipped a beat. Caldor's attack had missed one cannon on the roof. It was now in position to fire at him. She opened her maw to shout a warning. But just as she breathed in breath, the cannon fired, the shell struck the ground near Caldor, the blast lifted him up, rotated him mid-air, and he fell to his left side, a look of shock on his face.

Zafra, furious beyond belief, used her earth element to create a wall of stone in front of Caldor, shielding him from another attack, and she roared so loudly that the crew on the gun gazed at her with horror and hastily tried to crank the gun in her direction, only for another light beam to fire up at them, disintigrating the emplacement.

Zafra looked down and saw Caldor, still alive, but badly wounded, leaning around the wall and panting heavily. His right wing was a mess, the webbing torn in several places, and his right side was ripped open in several places from the shrapnel and he was bleeding badly. He gave a pained glance to her before he collapsed again. By this time, a vehicle had arrived, stopped, and several people got out and ran to him.

As they stopped, Zafra landed, fearful for Caldor as he lay there, wounded. As she closed with him, the sound of wingbeats pierced the sky and gazing up, she saw several welcome faces. Her Mother, her Father, her siblings, Shimmer, and then another fire dragoness she didn't recognize.

As they landed, Zafra's siblings ran to her and embraced her, her parents did likewise. The unknown female with them caught sight of Caldor and keened and ran for him, a look of sorrow on her face. Zafra wondered who she was and glanced at Caldor to see him conscious and angrily growling at the female.

"Here to finish me off yourself, _Mother_?"

Zafra gasped as he all but spat that word at her, causing the female to look away with an ashamed expression.

"Caldor... my son... I... I have no right to call you that... or ask your forgiveness... but..." Caldor coughed, this time, he coughed up a small amount of blood, renewing Zafra's fears that he was wounded far worse than she had thought.

"Save me... the speech... You're right... after all the things you did to me... all that you allowed _others_ to do to me... you have no right to call me your son..." He coughed again.

"Z-Zafra is the only one who ever cared or gave a damn about me... I..." He fell into a fit of coughing and Shimmer rushed to his side, worry creasing his brow.

"The shrapnel has gone deep... it's likely pierced a lung. We need to act quickly if we are to save him. Did we bring any healing crystals?" Thera nodded.

"I did but... they won't do anything... the wound is too large..." Caldor groaned.

"So... it seems even divine power doesn't want me to finally have _some_ degree of happiness in my life... Zafra... I'm sorry..." Zafra began to tear up and she ran to him.

"No! Don't you say that! Don't you _dare_ say that! You are _not_ going to die on me, do you hear me Caldor? Don't you _dare_ give up so easily!" Shimmer sighed.

"If only a dragon with the power of the Guardian Aegis were here, they would be able to heal Caldor... sadly... that power passed away with it's last master." This caught Zafra's attention and Shimmer nodded.

"Among light dragons there are special techniques passed down from generation to generation. Some, like the Light Dart, can be taught, but others, like the Guardian Aegis or the Eternal Vigil, are only passed down from bloodline to bloodline, parent to child. There were once seven great houses of light dragons, each had its own special 'blood rite', a special light technique they could use once certain conditions were met." Zafra nodded that she understood.

"The blood rite techniques were called Prism Burst, Eternal Vigil, Heaven's Fire, Solar Shot, Aurora Cascade, Champion's Aura, and Guardian Aegis. Today, only three of the original blood rites remain: Eternal Vigil, Champion's Aura, and Prism Burst. The last dragon who possessed the Guardian Aegis was Illuma the Paladin-Dragon, but... he was one of the dragons murdered by Silverus years ago..." Caldor grunted at the irony, then Zafra glanced around.

"Maybe a human surgeon can sew him up? Reduce the worst part of the injuries?" Shimmer nodded.

"That might work... You there! You're a Dracocorps surgeon aren't you? We need you to help Caldor here!" The man Shimmer called out grimaced and gazed at Caldor and shook his head.

"No." Shimmer growled.

"What did you just say?" The man steeled his gaze.

"I said 'no'. _**He**_ is the son of the _traitor_, Silverus, he is not entitled to _**any**_ treatment from the Dracocorps. He's done his duty, let him die in peace, and we can all move on." Zafra growled and turned on the man.

"Listen to me. _I_ am Zafra de Launces, granddaughter of King James de Launces. I am asking you _nicely_ once more. Help. Him. _**Now.**_" The man shook his head again.

"Sorry. Even if I could, he's mortally wounded. I'd only be delaying his suffering." Zafra started crying again which brought Thera up to the man.

"By my order as Magothera de Launces, daughter of the King, I _**order**_ you to treat Caldor. He is no traitor, he is a hero _**and**_ my dauther's mate. If you won't do it because you've been asked nicely, perhaps you need to be ordered to do it." The man, clearly shaken, shook his head again.

"I'm sorry. That is an order I would have to disregard as unlawful. Firstly, because it violates my oath to 'do no harm'; he's too badly injured to be helped. Secondly, I don't care who's mate he is or what he's done, the same blood that betrayed this country flows through his veins. On personal grounds, I cannot obey that order." Caldor coughed again, this time gazing at Elisari, his mother.

"You find this funny, don't you? After all the times you beat me, burned me, clawed me, bit me, kicked me around, and allowed others to beat me and do the same, I'm dying, not from your abuse or from other's hate but as a hero... yet I'm still a traitor's son... not worth the effort to save compared to a _loyal_ dragon..." Elisari recoiled as if she'd been slapped and uttered something barely audible. Shimmer looked to her.

"Eli... what was that?" Elisari sighed and gazed to Caldor then to the surgeon.

"Caldor... He's _not_ Silverus' son..." The surgeon scoffed.

"Yeah, right. We all heard the stories about how you and that traitor were all over each other. What makes you think I'd believe that?" Thera cleared her throat.

"Because she admitted as much before my Father, the King, my Mother, and us."

Caldor, who had been feeling weaker, suddenly snapped back to clarity as he gazed at his Mother.

"Is... is this true...?" Elisari nodded.

"Silverus was skilled at _many_ things... but he could never finish what he started... I... I was desperate for a child... A _light dragon_ child so... I mated with another light dragon, despite the fact that the child may _not_ have hatched a light dragon. The reason I could never bear to look at you, Caldor, was that every time I did, I saw your Father, your _real_ Father, and I couldn't bear what I had done. If I hadn't done what I did, maybe he would have still been alive..." Shimmer gazed at her.

"Then... who is his Father?" Elisari looked to him, tears forming in her eyes.

"You just said it a while ago... Caldor... is the only son of Illuma, the Paladin-Dragon, Hero of the Federation War, wielder of the Guardian Aegis blood-rite, and Syllia's Guardian of Light." Shimmer gazed at her with a slack-jawed expression and then turned to Caldor who was equally thunderstruck.

"The supposed son of a traitor... is in truth the son of one of the bravest, most loyal, noble, and strongest Light dragons who ever lived... a Hero in both name and deed... a dragon who, once we learned of his death, every dragon in Syllia mourned as if we had lost a parent and close friend..."

The sound of running feet got their attention and several Dracocorps surgeons and field medics rushed past the one who had refused to help Caldor and ran to his side. Just as quickly as they had been hesitant to treat Caldor when they thought him a traitor's son, they all now rushed forward, all doubt gone, replaced with true concern and a sense of what it was they were saving. One of them turned to Zafra.

"Lady Zafra, we'll work on Caldor to help stabilize him. Meanwhile, I'm afraid the Resistance still needs you. We have to retake the city quickly so that we can repel the attack from the _Chimera_." Zafra looked at him.

"That Rotarian Land-Battleship? It's _here_?!" The surgeon nodded.

"At last report from Bertram, who's been leading his force to harrass the machine and attempt to disable it, it was currently trying to maneuver to bring it's larger caliber stern guns to bear in order to bombard the city. We need to retake Launces so that we can send our forces out to attack it before it can fire." Zafra nodded and then gazed back to Caldor who was still in shock about the whole thing. She leaned down and kissed him, holding it for a while before breaking it.

"You hang in there Caldor. You've been asked more of than any dragon I know and you have done far more than what you were asked to do. If you need a reason to fight, think of me, and think of what kind of family we'll be able to start once this is all over. I told you that you are _you_, I don't care about anything else except _you_. Don't forget that."

Caldor smiled, his eyes sliding shut. Then a surgeon uttered a startled oath.

"His... his lung! His injuries! They... they're _glowing_!"

Zafra, Shimmer, Elisari, and indeed all the others gathered watched in amazement as the injuries that Caldor sustained started to glow with a soft golden light and shrink. Muscle tissue writhed and flowed, reconnecting, severed blood vessels, veins, and arteries refused, and the flesh started slowly closing over the wound, sealing it shut. A wound that would have taken months to recover from in the span of a few moments, looked as it it had been healing for several.

What's more the shrapnel still in him was being pushed out, every piece slowly being pushed out and landing on the grass before the surgeons. The glow didn't regenerate scales but closed up the flesh beneath the scales. As a result, he had large splotches of bloodshot pink flesh in amongst his scales where the shrapnel from the blast had pierced him running down the right side of his neck, chest, and belly. Even the damage to his wing slowly healed up in a matter of moments.

One of the surgeons checked his chest and sighed with relief.

"The wound in the lung... it's closed... he's breathing normally... all internal injuries have been healed..." Shimmer smiled, relief evident on his face.

"The Guardian Aegis... the blood rite that calles a dragon's inner light forth in dire times to heal the sick and wounded... a light so powerful yet it requires whoever bears its power to know the meaning of true love before it shows itself... so it _does_ live on..." Caldor opened his eyes and tried to rise, only to have Shimmer gently place a wing over him to hold him down. When Caldor glared at Shimmer, he gave Caldor one of his big smiles.

"_You_ have done _**quite**_ enough for one day young dragon, you still lost a _lot_ of blood. I suggest you rest and leave the rest of this battle to those of us who wish to avenge ourselves after our forced retreat from our home." Multiple thunderous roars got Zafra and Caldor's attentions as they gazed upwards in shock and joy.

The sky was filled with hundreds of dragons, male and female, dragons of all elements, the sunlight reflecting off their scales bathing them in a rainbow of hues and colors. The tanks of the Resistance rolled by, passing through the hole Caldor had punched through the Midtown Keep, the flag of Launces now flying from the top, and continued on towards the Grand Gate. They were in turn followed by paratroopers who had landed in the field. Once they saw the huge hole punched through the Keep and the exhausted Caldor lying before it, they put two and two together and each and every one gave Caldor a pat on his left shoulder and several words of encouragement as they marched by.

Feeling exhaustion starting to come on, Caldor decided to heed Shimmer's advice and slowly closed his eyes and, for the first time in his life, found a deep, restful sleep, a broad smile across his muzzle.

His heart, once knowing only anger from others, now radiated hope. He now knew what love truly was. His mind, once filled with memories of hatred for a Father he had barely known, finally stilled in peace. He didn't even mind when he smelled his Mother' scent next to him giving him a caress before leaving to join the other dragons in battle leaving him with only Zafra, Thera, Ignitus, and Shimmer nearby.

He was free. Free of Silverus' name, blood, and curse. He was alive, he was free, and yes, he was loved.

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Next Chapter: The Indomitable Will of Syllia


	64. The Indomitable Will Of Launces

Well everyone, Happy New Year! It is now 2017!

You know? As a history lover, I can't help but think back to how many things happened many years ago. Think about it.

As a tip of the hat to 2016, in 1986 the International Whaling Commission banned the practice of whaling.

In December of 1777, two-hundred and forty years ago, General George Washington and the Contenental Army was camped at Valley Forge in Pennsylvania. It was also during this year that Vermont declared itself the 'Independant Republic of New Connecticut'. This lasted until 1791. Vermont has the reputation of being the fourteenth state admitted to the Union after the Revolutionary War, and the first state to forbid slavery.

In June of 1837, King William IV of Great Britain was succeeded on the throne by his niece Victoria. She was crowned in 1838. Queen Victoria ruled the British Empire for 64 years (the longest reign of a monarch in British history) and her rule is universally known and recognized as the Victorian Age.

Also in September of 1837 an inventor by the name of Samuel F. B. Morse demonstrates the telegraph to stunned onlookers.

During the Mexican-American War in 1847, American forces led by Major General Winfield Scott captured the city of Veracruz, one of the largest port cities in Mexico. This was the first time the city was occupied by American forces. The second was in 1914 when several American citizens were arrested and American forces intervened.

In March of 1917, the Russian royal family was overthrown by the Bolshevik Revolution, effectively removing Russia from the First World War. One year later the Bolsheviks executed Czar Nicholas II and his entire family.

On August 6, 1917 the United States of America declared war on Germany, entering the First World War. A few months later (ironically on December 7, 1917) The US declared war on Austria-Hungary.

It is worth noting that the declaration of war passed almost unanimously with only one saying no. Later when the US entered the Second World War, it was the same: almost unanimous with an exception of one, the same person who voted 'no' to the WWI declaration also voted 'no' to the WWII declaration.

In May of 1937 Neville Chamberlain became Prime Minister of Great Britain. During his term, he was faced with Germany and Italy 'rattling the sabre' and agreed to several demands made in an effort of 'appeasement'. In 1938, he was recorded as waving a signed peace of paper and declaring 'peace in our time'. The next year, the world was at war again. He was replaced by Winston Churchill in 1940 and died soon after.

Though hostilities officially ended in 1945, the Second World War didn't end there. In 1947, after nearly a year and a half of deliberations, several treaties were signed in Paris, ending the European chapter of the Second World War. The Pacific chapter of WWII wouldn't truly end until 1951 when Japan signed peace treaties with over 48 nations (not including the Soviet Union which was later signed in 1955).

These are but a few interesting facts from our history, some you know, some you may not have known. Anyway, 2016 is gone, 2017 is here, and 2018 is now 364 days away. Here's wishing everyone a Happy New Year!

As a side note, the F13-H4 Strike Fighter introduced later on is based upon the German Ta-152 Interceptor.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 63: The Indomitable Will of Launces

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The engine sputtered and coughed again. The broken exhaust pipe coughed out a puff of thick, oily, foul-smelling black smoke into the cab of the HTM4 as a Syllian civilian tried time and again to start the old hand-crank engine. The mixed Syllian and Rotarian crew coughed as the engine failed to start, once again.

They had been like this since the tank had first stalled out at East Fifth and Broad when the OAC and Loyalist soldiers had been forcibly pushed back to Grand Gate by a veritable flood of Syllian paratroopers and dragons. The three Rotarians were the original crew but were bolstered by six Syllians who just so happened to know a thing or two about these old tanks. It didn't matter to them that they were now under the command of a Syllian officer, they just wanted to get back in the fight.

After the first three tries, a civilian came up and started working on the engine, muttering to himself all the while. Eventually though the man's patience wore thin and he started banging and kicking the old engine and occasionally turning the start crank again and again. It was almost to the point that the Rotarian sergeant was about to request permission to dismount and continue on foot. Finally though, after the fifth try, the crank caught and the pistons started moving up and down, restoring the tank to working state. The civilian smiled and looked to the Syllian officer.

"Turns out this tank likes being cussed at. This oughta get you lads back in the fight." The Syllian officer nodded to the man and then turned to the driver.

"Alright, let's get back in the-"

He was interuptted by a loud siren splitting the air, it's high-pitched wail getting everyone's attention.

_"This is an alert for all Syllian forces and Royalist forces. The _Chimera_ has completed its maneuvers and is targetting the city! All civilians take shelter and prepare for imminent artillery barrage!"_

At that moment, a loud whistling noise was heard and the crew looked outside and up just in time to see three shells arc overhead and land somewhere in the city with three tremendous explosions. The officer cursed.

"Looks like things just went to shit..."

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Inside the castle, the Partisans were pinned down by machinegun fire coming from the back of the East Wing where the main tower was located. George had heard the siren as well as the announcement and the accompanying explosions and cursed to himself. He then turned to the troops with him and scowled.

"Enough fooling around with these Loyalist bastards! Break through them and advance to the main tower!" Carmine looked to him and nodded.

"Your Highness, it's a long shot but I think I have an idea. There is a radio room set up in the main tower. The _Chimera_ is a massive weapons platform but it has no way of directly targetting the city, it must be relayed radio coordinates like any other artillery. Plus... Terref... he was an artillery officer before he became OAC. He knows everything about artillery and is likely the man giving the radio coordinates." George looked to him and nodded.

"Alright then... get to the main tower, destroy the radio, and retake the castle. Sounds simple." Carmine chuckled.

"Most things are easier said than done. Still, we have our course. There's only one way to the tower and that is forward through the remaining Loyalists." The Partisans nodded and then started firing around the corner at the machineguns. George gazed around to them and handed Carmine his weapon before shifting again into dragon form.

Taking the lead, George plowed into the hail of bullets like a living tank. The Partisans, seeing this, once again took cover behind him as he advanced, firing as they went. The machinegunners panicked and started raking the floor trying to make George balk all the while calling for the soldiers nearby to ready some weapon that he couldn't hear. As he approached the end of the hall, he suddenly saw three Rotarian soldiers come from a room he recognized as the armory and saw the large rifles they were holding. As he gazed at the rifles he suddenly realized what they were.

The rifles the Rotarians hefted were were the precursors to the Northumbrian Avalanche Gun. They were old single shot bolt-action rifles that fired a 13mm bullet capable of piercing light armor...

... or for that matter dragon scales.

"Carmine! Three Panzergewehrs at the front! Take them down before they fire!"

Amber was quick on the trigger as she heard him call and fired a round, killing the last remaining machinegunner. Carmine, now free from the withering barrage, stepped out of the shelter of George's left foreleg and leveled the assault rifle at the three and opened fire, raking the barrel back and forth.

The first soldier dropped with six bullets going across his chest. The second dropped the rifle as a bullet went through his hand and then fell as another ripped through his neck. The third and last soldier hastily leveled the rifle and fired, the 13mm round flying forth and striking George in the right shoulder, making him roar in anger. Miles then dove forward, submachinegun in hand, and emptied the entire clip into the third soldier.

As they stopped at the staircase, George reverted to human form and gazed at the injury, glaring as he did so.

"Dammit. I got careless." Immediately, Angela was there and she examined the wound and nodded to him.

"It's alright, it looks worse than it is. Heh, you dragons sure can take a hit, huh?" George chuckled.

"Yeah, Jonathan Havvers once called us living tanks. I guess I liked that so much I requested a transfer from artillery to the tank corps." She then laughed.

"I definately saw that." She then turned to Carmine.

"Carmine, if we stop the transmission, won't the _Chimera_ use another broadcast to target the city?" Carmine shrugged.

"I only know of that one radio station but, knowing the OAC, they likely have a backup somewhere. Still, the main radio is long range and anything else is likely short range meaning the _Chimera_ would have to maneuver again to close with the city. This means that they would then be in range of the city's big guns on the outer wall." George looked to him.

"But... we saw that thing before! How the hell can the cannons dent that thing?" Carmine chuckled.

"Because, I believe the people of Blue Islands have a phrase calling something a 'paper tiger'?" George looked to him.

"Yeah... something that looks fierce but is actually weak. Why bring that up?"

"The _Chimera_ **is **a paper tiger. It has incredible firepower and immense size but that's it." Miles looked to him curiously.

"You're going to have to explain that one." Carmine nodded to him.

"You see, it was the first superweapon Mechanos built and sheer pride alone kept him from modernizing it as he believed no other nation would be able to equal it's sheer size and firepower. It has a severe downside though. It still uses the engines he built for it two decades ago, the Schwannburg Torsion Two Twenty-five." George nodded to him when he paused to make sure the others were following him.

"The ScBT-225 had a major flaw, it _**cannot **_operate for extended periods of time before it overheats. Once it does, the _Chimera _is stationary as it vents the heat and must stop near a water source to refill the coolant tanks." His smile then widened.

"Mechanos tried to solve this a number of ways. Eventually he was forced to cut back on the armor plates and upped the weapons caliber slightly to deal with threats further away. Don't you see? The _Chimera_ **has **big guns and all but it's thickest armor isn't even five inches thick. The cannons on the wall, if aimed correctly, can rip through the thin armor of the Command Tower and possibly the hull. Hell, even rifle and machinegun fire could pierce the turret armor." George nodded.

"First thing's first though, we need to stop that long range bombardment." Carmine nodded and looked to the stairs.

"As we advance, I'd like to find my Uncle. If what Terref said is true, I hope he's alright." George nodded and together, the group started up the stairs.

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_ "Engine Six has been repaired! Crystal generators still at eighty-seven percent and holding steady! All engines functioning!"_

The repairs had taken some time. More time than James had thought originally. Through the window of the observation point he could see the east wall of the city, as well as the back face of the castle. It was refreshing to see the city again yet at the same time, smoke from the battle raging rose into the sky. A frantic radio report had informed him that the _Chimera _had just begun bombardment of the city. He returned to the station and gazed across the bridge crew until he found the officer he was looking for.

"Colonel Colston, how much farther from Launces are we?" The officer turned and saluted him sharply.

"We're still several miles out Your Majesty. By my watch, if we continue at full speed, we'll reach Launces in about three hours." James nodded and did the math in his head.

At a speed of 12 mph, and a ETA of 3 hours, it meant that they were 36 miles out from the city. James nodded and gazed at the castle, he kept imagining that he could see George climbing the tower in an effort to reach the top. He folded his arms and sighed, knowing that at this range and without radio coordinates there was nothing he could do to help. Still, he steeled his resolve and glanced to Colston again.

"Colonel, try and contact Bertram again. We _have_ to get some sort of coordinates to use the cannons." Colston nodded and sent a runner to the radio room.

James felt the familiar charge of the crystal engines kick in again as the landship _Indomitable_, a weapon he specifically created to counter the threat of further Rotarian land-battleships like the _Hydra_ and the _Chimera_, slowly lurched forward again.

At that moment, an alarm split the calm and a report came through.

_"Alert! Alert! Loyalist and OAC zeppelins and helicopters taking off from Launces Airport! All tower gunnery crews, man your weapons and prepare for attack!"_ Colston turned to James, an exhasperated expression on his face.

"Your Majesty. I must once again voice my concerns about you being on the front lines here. Surely you wouldn't consider falling back to a safer position?" James gave a small smile and nodded.

"I may be the King of Syllia but Launces is still my home. I cannot stand idly by while so many sacrifice themselves to liberate it. Notify the remaining Dracocorps dragons with the force and dispatch them on an intercept mission. Unlike fighter planes and jets, these airships and helicopters are targets that they_ can_ fight against." Colston nodded and turned back just as the radio came alive.

_"Paladin to Fortress! I have firing coordinates on the Rotarian landship! Grid Section Twelve-Eleven, Points Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie. Fire for effect!"_ James grabbed the PA speaker and keyed it.

"Attention forward guns, we have firing solution. Load long-range Magnum shells, double propellent. Grid Section Twelve-Eleven, Points Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie. Set elevation to forty-five degrees. Fire for effect!"

A siren sounded as the three large 15 inch cannons in the forward hull slowly lifted their barrels into position. James watches as one by one all three stopped at a perfect 45 degree angle for maximum range. Then the alarm stopped, and all three cannons fired, the recoil shaking the entire landship. James turned to Colston and then faced the crew.

"Now it begins."

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_"This is an alert to all aircraft in the area, mobile radar station Dog-Six has detected numerous Rotarian aircraft inbound to attack. Repeat: multiple hostiles inbound to Launces."_ Bertram cursed as he broke of his strafing run of the _Chimera_ and leveled out. Just as he finished, he heard an alarm from the Rotarian land-battleship.

_"New fire coordinates recieved. Quadrant R-Seven-Four-Four. Target confirmed as Grand Gate. OAC requesting artillery fire to stop advancing traitors and Syllian forces. Coordinates are danger close."_ Bertram held his breath as the three large naval cannons on the stern deck of the _Chimera_ rose to a twenty degree angle. However, just before the cannons fired, he heard something come through his radio and he looked in the direction of the city just in time to see three large shells drop from the sky.

The first shell struck the aft deck, punching a huge hole through the deck armor plates and setting fire to the area. The second was a little high but still hit the _Chimera_ as it tore through the third smokestack, caving it in, and then continued down into the small building nestled between the second and third smokestacks. This was followed by a tremendous explosion that ripped the third smokestack free so that the remnants of it toppled over and then, to Bertram's relief, the radio tower also fell.

The third round though, if luck was gold then whichever gun crew aboard the _Indomitable_ aimed that was rich as the last round struck the pivot point of the cannons, shattering the joint and dropping all three 9 inch cannons back into the resting position as well as started another fire. Then, all of a sudden, the grates on the port and starboard sides ripped free from where they were bolted on and sailed in opposite directions, smoke pouring from the revealed holes. Bertram crowed loudly and keyed the radio.

"Gun crews of the _Indomitable_, I owe you guys a drink because that was _beautiful_. I count three hits on the _Chimera_, all critical. I confirm that the long-range radio is down, as is the stern artillery, and severe damage to what looks to be the engine room. Good shooting, Launces is safe from artillery fire." As he released the radio key, he caught a glimpse of something in the sky and his eyes sharpened to see what it was and he gasped.

"This is Paladin, I confirm several flights of large twin-engine bombers at high altitude. Damn, how can something _that_ big fly on only _two_ engines?" To his amazement, Dieter was the first to reply.

_"Those are HB13s, the long-range heavy bomber of the Rotarian AAF. They're only used when Mechanos __**really**__ wants to see something destroyed. The nickname for those aircraft are City-busters."_ Bertram didn't like the sound of that.

"Why are they called that?" This time Kaleb answered.

_"They were used during the attacks on Retorinc and Chamberlain. They earned their nickname because they carry over six tons of explosives in their bomb bays and because Mechanos deployed over two-hundred of them when he attacked Chamberlain, and then the Tellanian holdouts in Tobleski. The bombers were deployed for eight days straight and they completely leveled the city, there isn't a building higher than two stories still standing there."_ Bertram grimaced.

"So then, any guess on their target? Launces? The ground forces? Or have they somehow learned of the _Indomitable_?" There was static for a second and a voice came over the radio.

_"Attention, any aircraft, this is George de Launces of the Launces Partisans. We have almost secured the castle from Rotarian Loyalist and OAC control, however, we have just intercepted a message from Mechanos to the OAC commander informing him that there is a wing of bombers inbound to level the city! He even had the nerve to ask if Launces was burning." _Bertram cursed.

"Well, there's our answer. All fighters, leave the _Chimera_ to the _Indomitable_. Intercept those bombers and bring them _all_ down."

A chorus of confirmations blew through the radio and almost as one the fighters started climbing higher to intercept the incoming bombers. As he rose through the clouds, he was suddenly struck by the size of the force.

"Umm... anyone else seeing this?" There was an explosion of colorful words over the radio.

_"There must be over a hundred! Paladin, how the hell are twelve fighters supposed to down a hundred bombers?"_

_ "Oh ye of little faith. Have you already forgotten about us?"_ Bertram glanced around where the voice came from and heard a loud engine droning beside him. He glanced to the left and gaped at a sight that, had he been faced with a few months ago, would have made even _him_ contemplate retreat.

Off his left wing, also flying up to meet the bombers, were six whole squadrons of the Rotarian F13-H4 strike fighter, the aircraft Mechanos had designed to replace the F9 and F10. These frontline units had been assigned them shortly before news of Ayura reached them and, with the exception of three or four squadrons, they all defected when they heard the news and saw the silver griffon princess herself.

The Royalist squadrons closed with the bombers from underneath and fired their impressive armament of four machineguns and five cannons. The nose of the lead bomber in the formation literally disintigrated with the power of the rounds hitting it. As the lead bomber fell away the voice on the radio started laughing.

_"I forgot that these bombers have glass jaws!"_ Bertram then smiled as he got the joke and actually gave a laugh when Dieter cut in.

_"That is a __**very**__ bad joke Lieutenant Kelvin."_ Bertram keyed the radio as he turned in the air and raked the right wing of another bomber.

"If you can, try and aim for the bomber's engines. They won't get far without them." Another groan came through the radio.

_"Et tu, Bertram?"_ Bertram chuckled at that but then saw a sight that made his heart skip.

"Sweet Mother of- Squire! Bomber below you! He's diving straight at the Tower! He isn't about to carpet bomb it, he's diving right at it!" The reply was one of utter shock.

_"What the- that's not possible, a bomber like that, the vibrations alone would crack it like an egg!"_

_"Says the young man who pulled a barrel roll in a four-engine transport."_

That voice was all that Bertram needed to snap the plane into a tight role just as tracers whizzed by him and shot the tail section of the bomber he was bracketting to pieces. He hurriedly performed an Immelman and when he righted himself, he saw several aircraft bearing the raven, reaper, and scythe crest of the 666th.

He spared a moment to gaze in amazement as, just as Kaleb's intuition proved right as with a resounding shriek of metal and breaking glass, the large twin-engine bomber all but disintigrated in the dive. However, the fuselage, and more frighteningly, the bomb bay, continued on its previous path of flight and crashed directly into the Tower, punching a hole in it. Seconds later, the bombs it was carrying exploded, splitting the old fortification open with a resounding _'CRACK'_.

Bertram watched, in fixed horror, as the top three floors of the Tower mimicked a smaller Dalon Tower and tilted forward, crumbling as it fell and then crushed the section of the wall before it. Stonework, metal, and worse of all soldiers, fell from the rubble and was smashed as pieces of the wall came down atop them.

Bertram turned back just in time to see a Rotarian F13-H4, this one bearing the 666th emblem, trying to maneuver around and get on his tail. what made this plane different was the blood red '2' on the fuselage. Bertram managed to put voice to memory and growled.

"So, still alive Kiln? I figured a coward like you couldn't die a soldier's death." There was a cough on the radio.

_"Indeed. I'm far too partial to living to allow the likes of __**you**__ to kill me. As I am now the 666th Squadron's XO, I will cement myself by being the man who slays you. Ironic that we finish that little dance we started over Launces when your friend was killed. I haven't been to Launces though, do you think there still might be some trace of his bones or his fighter in the ruins of the castle tower? I've been meaning to go looking for mementos."_ Bertram grimaced.

"I don't think so Kiln, the only way you're getting into Launces is if I shoot you down inside the city." Kiln laughed.

_"Is that so? Well then, you'd best prepare to back those words up dragon."_

Kiln throttled down and tried to slide his way onto Bertram's tail but he was having none of that. He stomped on the rudder pedal and flipped the fighter over into a roll and then reversed it, coming up behind Kiln. However, the Rotarian ace saw this and copied the maneuver, firing a burst as Bertram's right wing passed his crosshairs.

Bertram felt the large caliber rounds strike the wing and cursed as he saw a huge hole through the wing where the Syllian cross was located. Luckily he still had control of the ailerons and managed to break free from Kiln's sight and loop around on his tail, firing as Kiln's plane rolled in front of him. He was rewarded by seeing sparks shoot from the belly of Kiln's fighter as well as flames from the engine cowling as the plane started belching thin grey-white smoke.

_"Gah! Damn you! Blast... no! I refuse to die like this!"_ Kiln wheeled the plane away and started diving for Bertram, firing as he closed. Only a quick roll from Bertram saved him as Kiln's plane swooped by.

"Have you gone mad?!" Kiln's voice came through, but this time he was worried, even fearful, as he spoke his voice cracked in several places.

_"__**Mechanos' **__orders. Do __**whatever **__is nessessary. Will __**not **__tolerate __**any **__more failures from me... no... __**US**__. Operation Serpent... We screw __**this **__up, we're __**dead**__. W-We've gone and burnt our candle up from both ends... I... I __**cannot**__... __**I WILL NOT DIE**__!"_

Kiln performed a maneuver that even Bertram could see his plane was in no shape to perform, a quick, tight turn to try another kamikaze attack at Bertram's fighter. It was him, or Bertram, and if he was going to die, then he would take Bertram down with him. The radio crackled back to life, Kiln's voice was broken, hysterical.

_"I swear to you Bertram de Launces, I shall be your death, and I shall drag you through the gates of Hell myself!"_

Kiln's voice broke down into high-pitched laughter as he dove again. Bertram realized suddenly that there was no room to maneuver. He also realized that, if he shifted and escaped, Kiln would _still_ plow into him, the propellor blades likely slicing him to ribbons.

Suddenly, a burst of machinegun and cannonfire got his attention and Kiln screamed as the rounds peppered the fuselage, tail, and wings, forcing him to abort the ram. Then suddenly the radio crackled to life again, Kiln's voice suddenly sounding six or eight octaves higher.

_"It... It's not possible! I... I __**KILLED **__you! __**I KILLED YOU**__!"_ Kiln's plane flew past Bertram, thick black smoke pouring from the engine. From the looks of the way it was flying, Kiln was just _barely_ keeping control of the fighter, all the while shrieking into the radio like a madman.

Another plane got Bertram's attention and he turned to see a sight that made him think he was seeing a ghost as well.

There, tailing Kiln, was a Syllian blue P-31b. The only difference was that on the rudder was the Blue Isles kanji for 'Hurricane' and on the fuselage was the crest of the Ayatane family. Bertram's eyes blurred as he saw the crest.

"M... Michijo Ayatane? Hayate...?" The radio gave a burst of static and the aircraft flew at Kiln again, opening fire when he was in range. Over the radio, Bertram could tell Kiln was loosing what was left of his mind. Through the canopy, he saw that Kiln tried to roll but couldn't. That last burst from the unknown plane had damaged his controls.

He was a sitting duck.

As the fighter closed again, the radio crackled once more and a voice came through. The Blue Isles accent was there but the voice was different from Michijo.

_"You are the monster who attacked Michijo Ayatane. Today, his death is avenged!"_ Kiln screamed as cannon and machinegun rounds riddled his plane, walking their way up to the cockpit.

_"Who... who are you?!"_ The radio cracked once and then:

_"I am your death."_

The plane fired again, cannon rounds slamming point blank into the cockpit of Kiln's fighter. The glass canopy shattered, and through it all, Bertram could see Kiln inside, each round striking his body, passing through it, and destroying the panel before him. He even saw one round pass cleanly through Kiln's body and break the flight control stick in front of him in half leaving Kiln ludicrously holding the upper half in his hand. At that moment, the engine caught fire, and through his damaged radio, Kiln let out a scream that Bertram could hear as the fire flashed over and into the cockpit and engulfed him.

Yet, it didn't explode.

The plane, uncontrolled, rolled slowly to the left, the nose dropped as the damaged engine seized, and Kiln fell, burning, still strapped in his plane as it disintigrated around him, burning oil trickled down the fuselage and caught fuel leaking from the tank, consuming the rest of the plane, all the while, Kiln screamed until the fireball he had become struck the ground just outside Launces, finally ending him. As Bertram leveled out, the mysterious plane lighted alongside him. Recovering, he keyed his radio.

"Pilot, thank you. Can you identify yourself?" The radio was silent for a moment before it came back on.

_"Yes Your Highness, I can, and I will. Flight Lieutenant Ichani Ayatane of the Blue Isles RAF branch, 82nd Interceptor Squadron, Force YZ-8. Michijo... he was my older brother..."_ Bertram nodded to himself and sighed.

"I thank you for what you've done. Your brother would have been very proud." The radio crackled again.

_"I know."_

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As the _Indomitable_ drew closer, the Dracocorps found themselves being drawn from the battle in the city towards the airships and helicoptirs heading for the attack. After leaving Caldor in the capable hands of the surgeons on the ground, Shimmer had managed to catch up with Elisari and the rest of the group. He glanced at her and gave a small smile.

For the first time since Silverus' execution, he saw that her eyes burned brightly. She had been restored to the Dracocorps by order of James de Launces and assigned directly to him as his second in command. Now with her heart restored and the heavy weight she had carried all these years removed, she seemingly regained the beauty for which she had been known for before Silverus. Shimmer remembered once he had asked her if she would have considered him a mate and she had given him a small chuckle and a generally vague answer.

Now as they flew together, he felt those old feelings stirring up inside. He had alsways believed he was the literal, if draconic, expression of the old human saying 'Lucky at cards, unlucky at love'. He could have had sixteen bombs explode near him and he would have walked away without a scratch. One instance during the Dalon Conflict, he had over thirty AA cannons from the _Poseidon_ trained on him and bracketting him with flak shells.

He was never hit once.

A flak burst broke him from the thoughts and he saw airships mounting machineguns and cannons turning to intercept the dragons and protecting the other airships and helicoptors. The large, counter-rotating twin blade propellors revved up to quicker speed. The engines whined and the rudders turned, slowly bringing the broadside of the airship facing the dragons. Shimmer growled and gazed to Elisari's wing.

"Eli! Take your group high and attack from above!"

Elisari gave him and nod and with three great flaps of her ruby wings, she was rising above the airships. An airship, L3, spotted her group and started to rise as well, the aeilerons rising to a full 40 degree rise. The flak cannons were hurriedly cranked into position to open fire on the force. Elisari, seeing the danger, stoked up the fires deep within her and unleashed a torrent of her legendary ruby flames. The gun crews, believing this was bravado, laughed.

Right up until the flames struck the gun deck, setting off ammunition, melting the cables lashing the deck to the envelope, and setting fire to the fabric envelope itself. The glowing hot cables snapped, the tension whipping across the deck, cutting through all in the way. Though helium wasn't explosive, the fabric that contained the helium was highly flammable. Each airship had eight gas-filled envelopes keeping it afloat.

L3, the airship that had turned to engage Elisari, had three of its eight envelopes burning and the large canvas 'bag' that was the skin over the entire balloon was slowly spreading the flames to the other envelopes. The hiss of escaping gas was audible even in the chaos of combat. Another airship, B26, came in as close and soldiers on L3 took a leap of faith, jumping from the stricken airship to the other.

Their rescue however, was short lived as moments after L3 fell away, completely engulfed in flames, Elisari raked the deck of B26 in flames and Shimmer who flew under her, lanced the envelopes with precise shots. The entire balloon 'popped' and the deck fell flaming to the world below, the deck crews still screaming as their life lines now became figurative nooses.

At that moment, two helicoptors tried to fly in and buzz the dragon formation. Again, Elisari and Shimmer moved in perfect sync. Shimmer nailed the lower flying one with a light bolt through the cockpit and Elisari melted the rotors on the higher one. Both choppers actually collided mid-air as they fell.

As the group flew onward in pursuit of the airships still heading for the force, a loud roar pierced the air. His sharp eyes managed to watch in amazement as the humans on board the airships suddenly seem to lose heart in the attack, as if they were unsure of their plan of attack. In contrast, the dragons in the air picked up and roared triumphantly. Shimmer realized what he had heard and turned to gaze up through the clouds and gasped aloud.

There, descending through the clouds, was Palas the Behemoth, a light dragon of such immense size that he was rivaled only by Shimmer's father Titanus and Gojani. Shimmer realized that if _he_ was here then... He started looking about wildly and then he noticed something. Nearby he also caught more glimpses and saw more light dragons descending. Some joined Palas, others started flying in perfect V formation with their fellows and launching attacks on the confused Rotarian Loyalists. What made these light dragons different from the ones with the Dracocorps was that these dragons had archaic silver-steel armor and a crest stamped into it.

A crest of a dragon surrounded by seven stars. The Knights of the Blood-Rite.

The Knights were light dragons who had sworn to protect the last great houses that commanded the Blood-Rite powers of their race. Those who held the Blood-Rite were the 'Lords' and the others were the Knights. Palas, or more precisely, _Lord_ Palas, was the wielder of the Blood-Rite: Champion's Aura. As Shimmer watched, two more formations of light dragons dropped from the sky. He immediately recognized both dragons leading them.

The first was Lady Dulcia the Merciful, wielder of the Blood-Rite: Prism Burst. This Rite, which, unlike several offense-oriented Blood-Rites, was meant to trap opponents in a prison of light until they could be apprehended. Although if they couldn't, the Prism would then shatter and destroy its prisoners quickly and mercifully.

The second was Lord Arranthas the Vigilant, wielder of the Eternal Vigil Blood-Rite. When Arranthas used this ability, he never seemed to tire, never wavered. As a result, that stamina and behavior passed to those around him. When using Eternal Vigil, one never tired, never felt the urge to sleep, eat, or drink. Pure mana sustained them.

Shimmer knew in his heart he was witnessing a sight not seen since the ancient times when the Knights of the Blood-Rite went to war against the newly formed Slayer Corps of Tellanos. Light dragons were few in number, being born a light dragon or having a light dragon hatch was all a matter of chance. Naturally in Caldor's case his mother mated with a light dragon so she had at least a fifty-fifty chance while those who were not of a light dragon parentage had a less than ten percent. Yet, seeing so many of his race here was staggering.

The Dracocorps naturally were allowed to keep a roster of dragons who volunteered for service and out of the some nine-hundred dragons of all the elements (and even a few who had no elements like shapeshifters), roughly sixty were light dragons. And now here was some ninety more light dragons just dropping from the sky to fight alongside them.

His focus was broken when Elisari roared and Shimmer looked to see she had been engaged by an airship that had been hiding in a low cloud bank. Shimmer quickly dove to the rescue, using his light to shoot the airship full of holes, then using his momentum to snag the balloon and pull down, causing the evvelopes to collapse and actually flipping the deck upside down as it fell. He quickly returned to Elisari who was no worse for wear despite a few scratches.

As he closed with her, she glanced at him and then gazed up at the formations of light dragons and then back to Shimmer. What no one knew was that while she had been in Royalis, Shimmer had been trying time and again to woo Elisari, despite the stigma that she bore. As Elisari gazed at Shimmer he gave her a nod which she returned and the two of them reformed their group and renewed the attack.

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George and his group had easily reached the radio room in the tower but now they were running into obstruction after obstruction. The OAC had tried to block the hallway every few feet with furniture forcing the Partisans to clamber over the block to advance. Carmine was quiet though, having found that Terref, after his ambush had failed, returned to his Uncle's quarters and had shot him dead. Now George could sense he was vengeful. He wanted to see Terref dead and Heaven help whoever got in his way.

On the second to last floor of the tower, George made a round only to leap back as several weapons fired. The OAC had set up a strong defence at the chokepoint leading to the solar (his parent's chambers) and the roof. He looked down to the flag he held in his left hand and his pistol (his SMG having run out of ammo some time ago). He then gazed to far side of the tower and spotted the old balcony and turned to his group.

"Try and break through here. I'm going to shift and scale the tower from the outside."

Before anyone could ask what he meant, George shifted form, took the Launces flag in his mouth, and leapt around the corner, running for the balcony. The startled OAC troops fired anyway, despite that their bullets were useless.

George plowed through the locked wooden and glass doors to the balcony, shattering and splintering them and scattering the wreckage all over the balcony. He gave a painful glance around the enlarged balcony which he recalled his Mother and Father loved to use as a sunning spot and grimaced. He then turned around, sank his claws into the stonework of the tower, actually startling himself at his own strength and started climbing the tower. He gave a thought to what the OAC soldiers were thinking every time they heard him sink his claws into the stonework outside. Thankfully, it was a short climb and he was soon at the roof.

Before him was the glass dome to the solar. To his left, the stairway that led up here from the hall outside the bedroom. Then to his right, he saw it. The castle flagpole and flying from it, the Occupation flag the Rotarians had hoisted up the day Launces fell. He released the flag of Launces from his mouth, shifted back into human form and started for the flagpole.

Suddenly, he caught a glimpse of movement and gasped as Terref came from behind the staircase where he had been hiding, leveled his pistol at George and fired.

He felt the round strike him. Glancing down, he saw that Terref's aim had been off and he had been hit in the collarbone. Terref, seeing he had missed the killshot, snarled and advanced, weapon in hand to finish him off. As he stopped, he raised the pistol and smirked.

"Launces will _never_ be yours." He then lifted some sort of detonator in his hand and George blanched.

"The... the failsafe... You... you said..." Terref grinned.

"I lied." He then used his left thumb to flip the cover off the detonation switch and then gazed to the Occupation flag.

"All Glory to Emperor Mechanos." He pressed the button.

...

...

...

Nothing happened.

Terref glanced to the detonator and pressed it again. Then again. Then again. Still nothing happened.

"What's wrong with this blasted thing? What happened to the failsafe?" The sound of clanking got George's attention, a deep voice boomed from the stairs.

"I happened."

George and Terref both turned their heads to the stairs and saw a man, clad in steel plate armor standing before them. A blue and white surcoat that covered the cuirass bore the emblem of the Royal Knights, the protectors of the Royal Family. Terref immediately howled in rage and leveled his pistol at the knight, pulling the trigger.

A sharp _snick_ made Terref go just as pale as George had when he activated the detonator. The knight drew his weapon, a longsword, and charged at Terref with a battlecry. Terref struggled to clear his pistol and managed to do so and leveled it at the knight just as he closed and squeezed the trigger.

The pistol misfired again.

Terref screamed in fear as the knight brought the sword down, slashing him from his left shoulder to right hip. The force of the hit made Terref pivot where he stood and on the backswing, the knight cut him across his back from the left hip to right shoulder, forcing Terref foward and down on his knees. Now wasting a beat, the knight then twisted the blade around and thrust forward, running Terref through. The OAC commander gave a rattling gasp of pain as the sword severed his aeorta, then to free his sword, the knight placed his right boot on Terref's back and pushed his body off the blade.

The knight then turned and glanced at George who was slowly struggling to his feet. As George steadied himself, the knight advanced two steps, knelt, and removed his helm, giving George a shock.

It was Gordon Calawai.

The only time George had seen the man he had a permanant frown plastered to his face and grunted at everything anyone asked him. Now the grizzled man's red hair was a mess and his moustache was lifted as the man smiled.

"Your Highness, Sir Gordon Calawai at your service and command." George didn't know what to say. The sound of footsteps coming from the stairs echoed as the Partisans came to the top. Carmine took one look at Calawai and then saw Terref sprawled out on the ground, dead, and then dropped to his knees, the anger draining out of him. Calawai saw him and gave him a sympathetic nod.

"Sorry lad. It was either him or the Prince and I couldn't allow that to happen." Carmine said nothing but instead nodded understandingly and then looked to George and gasped.

"Angela! George is injured!" Angela nodded and ran past him and knelt beside George to examine his shoulder. Once she got a look at it, she chuckled.

"Well Your Highness, you've earned yourself another month of enjoying my company as a nurse. That shoulder will have to be stitched up and no moving that arm for a month or so." George groaned while the others laughed and then George turned to Carmine, realizing what was now happening.

"Carmine, get back to the radio room and start broadcasting. We've retaken the castle!" Carmine nodded and started off as George then turned to Miles.

"Miles, remember that old PA system that my Father installed here to broadcast across the city? Go to my chambers, find the recording of our National Anthem, and start playing it next to the PA system." Miles nodded, looked to Amber to come with him, and they started off down the stairs. George then looked to Calawai.

"Sir Calawai, if you would be so kind?" Calawai nodded and walked to the flagpole and started lowering the OAC flag. George approached, flag in hand, and then replaced the OAC banner with the Launces flag and Calawai then started raising it.

As the flag made its way up the pole, George produced a lighter, held the OAC flag over the edge, set the corner on fire, and let the flag fall. Then the PA speakers suddenly came on and a full instrumental came on. Moments later, the radio broadcast speakers, which the OAC had used to broadcast Rotarian propaganda came on.

_"Attention! Citizens and soldiers of Launces! This is Lieutenant Carmine of the Royalist forces attached to the Partisans! As of now, His Highness, Prince George de Launces, who was in fact the leader of the Partisans, has effectively retaken Castle Launces from the OAC. I repeat: Captain Terref, commander of the OAC, is dead. Castle Launces is now in Partisan hands!"_

As the flag reached the top of the flagpole, it finished unfurling as a strong gust of wind caught it. The bright blue banner waved proudly over the castle, it's size large enough that all in the city who looked up could see it and know that what they had heard was the truth.

Launces was free.

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	65. Operation Serpent

Well everyone, I finally have gotten one. I now have an Xbox One, as well as several games I had been getting every once in a while. Still don't have internet so I can't get Xbox Live but, God willing, that may be soon. Well anyway, ya'll aren't here to hear me celebrate, you're all here for the new chapter.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 64: Operation Serpent

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The constant report of the five-inch guns was almost becoming monotonous. Across from the _Indomitable_, the _Chimera_ burned. The engines were aflame, the aft deck was burning, the command tower had more holes in it than a cheese grater, and the turret that could have been used to return fire was utterly destroyed. The only counter-attacks coming from the Rotarian superweapon was small arms fire from the breaches in the armor.

James angrily cursed as he watched the machine burn, the crew refusing to abandon the _Chimera_. He vaguely wondered if Mechanos had ordered them to not abandon the landship, to fight to the last man, and never surrender and then mentally slapped himself thinking that was _exactly_ what Mechanos would have done. He glanced downward to the turret on the foredeck of the _Indomitable_ and watched as the twin mounted cannons recoiled. The gun crews must have been managing eighteen rounds per minute.

After a minute, he glanced back at the _Chimera_ just in time to see the command tower (what was left of it) buckle and collapse inside itself, the air pressure blasting flames through the immediate area below decks. Almost instantly, several spots where small arms fire was seen vanished in flames and James turned to Colston and nodded to him. Colston returned the nod and then activated the PA.

"All cannons, cease fire."

After a few more delayed rounds fired, the cannons fell silent. James finally sighed, turned away, and glanced to Colston.

"When the flames die down, begin combing the wreckage for survivors and wounded. Stand down all stations." Colston nodded and relayed James' orders as he left the bridge. He descended down the control tower to the main deck, then went down further to the engine room where the crew saluted him. James gave them a nod and left the _Indomitable_, gazing at the army vehicle that had been radioed for him. The soldier snapped to attention and saluted and then started the vehicle.

As James boarded the vehicle, he gave a second glance to the soldier, then glanced to his uniform and nodded.

"To Launces please Sergeant." The soldier nodded and put the vehicle in gear and slowly started off. As he rode off, James had a suspicion and silently unfastened the leather strap holding his sidearm in place. He didn't know what was about to happen but he was going to be prepared for anything. He looked to the driver.

"Sergeant, pick up the pace a bit." The soldier nodded and changed gears.

As the wall of Launces loomed ahead, James hoped that they would make it before whatever he sensed would catch up to them.

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As he stirred, the first thing he was aware of was a bell ringing. Slowly, Caldor opened his eyes, and glanced around himself. He was still on the fields outside the Midtown Keep. The only difference was that, now instead of Rotarian flags flying over the Keep, the Syllian flag had been raised in its place. Suddenly, his memories came flooding back. Him being wounded, Zafra pleading with him to hold on, his Mother landing along with Shimmer, Lady Thera, and the others, and then watching as a literal thunder of dragons passed overhead to engage the Rotarian forces still within the city. And then...

...and then exhaustion struck him and he slipped into sleep without protest.

He hadn't even been aware that Shimmer had taken off to join the battle. As he glanced to his left, he saw several soldiers and Dracocorps doctors nearby. Almost as close were several dragons who were being treated from various injuries. More than one glanced at him, huffed and then returned to their rest. That all changed when a voice (as well as the owner of that voice) dropped from the sky and all but cratered into him.

Caldor smiled as he recognized Zafra as she landed almost right on top of him and started nuzzling him affectionately. Nearby several male dragons growled angrily at that but the next instant they stopped immediately. Caldor glanced where Zafra had come from and saw the reason they held themselves in check. For there, landing near him, was not only Lady Thera and her mate, Ignitus, but also Queen Lysa as well as Shimmer and his mother who, upon landing gave an unsure glance to Caldor and then to Shimmer who gave her the barest of smiles.

Caldor struggled to rise but Zafra's foreleg and right wing kept him down. Then as Lysa landed she proceeded to walk towards Caldor, a stoic expression on her face. Caldor, unsure of how to act (as he had never really been brought before anyone of notable rank before), slightly dipped his head as one would a bow. He expected a rebuke, or something, but was startled by the last thing he expected...

...laughter...

He glanced up at the Queen and saw her laughing, well, more like chuckling. He was then aware of his Mother also giving him a smile, and, despite his feelings, he returned it, and then also Shimmer smiling.

Several dragons who had recognized Lysa when she landed rose and walked over to her and bowed their heads. he leader of whom, a dragon Caldor recognized as a Dracocorps officer, gave Caldor a venomous glance before looking to Lysa.

"Your Majesty, while we are delighted to have you and your family here with us to inspect the wounded, I and my subordinates must request you show caution. This dragon is, after all, the son of Silverus the Traitor." The dragon sounded plainly smug and probably half-expected to see Zafra leap away from Caldor with a gasp and maybe even both Lysa and Thera start attacking him but was startled when Lysa glared at him.

"Lieutenant Toxias, you would do well to not speak such lies in my presence or in the presence of my family. Caldor is not now, nor was he ever, a traitor. He protected my granddaughter _and_ my eldest son while working with the Partisans and I will brook no slander against him. Furthermore, it seems the truth has yet to have spread as quickly as I might have hoped it would have. There is a... discrepency... regarding Caldor's heritage."

Toxias and his fellows gazed at their Queen curiously. Indeed, her statement had also drawn the attention of several other dragons currently on the field who wished to hear what they thought was an interesting diversion. Lysa glanced at the dragons around and then eyed Caldor and her eyes regained that motherly appearance to them.

"Young Caldor here, is in fact, _not_ Silverus' child but is in fact the son of Illuma and as such, so I have witnessed, has also inherited the Blood Rite of Illuma's bloodline, the Guardian Aegis. Furthermore, and I say this only because I see your eyes Toxias, my granddaughter, Zafra, has already chosen Caldor to be her mate. It is her desicion but, as Queen, I find that, given Caldor's heroics alone, he is acceptable in my opinion and once my mate returns and gives his blessing it shall be official."

Caldor was rewarded by seeing Toxias splutter in amazement. The nearby dragons all stood silently as they eyed Caldor, as if seeing him in a new light. They at once recalled all that had been done to him in his youth as well as what the Dracocorps had oftentimes _allowed_ be done to him on that one basis alone. He gave a thankful glance at Lysa but then felt the oddest sensation by his side. He glanced down to see Zafra examining the spots on his side where the scales hadn't healed with a peculiar expression. She noticed his glance and gave him a smile as she reached with a forefoot to rub one of the several pink spots.

Caldor suddenly couldn't help himself, he gave a gasp and started chuckling, much to the amusement of the dragons assembled near him. He gave a look to Zafra who widened her smile then started tickling him everywhere she found a spot on his body. His chuckling turned into full blown laughter as with each spot she saw, she immediately dived onto it. Then, without warning, pushed a little harder on him and, unable to stop himself, he rolled over, belly-up, and leapt over him and started tickling him again. All the while, several dragons looked on in both amazement and some with shock.

After a while though, Caldor told Zafra that his chest was hurting and she stopped and allowed him to right himself. As he did, a vehicle came through the Keep entrance and stopped beside them. The doors came open and out came George along with Angela and a few other Partisans. Lysa and Thera gave a joyous cry and leapt for him. George just barely managed to shift into dragon form as his sister and mother all but tackled him just to make sure that it was actually him. Moments later, another roar was heard and everyone gazed up just in time to see Bertram drop from the skies and land amongst them. He too rushed forward to embrace his older brother.

For a moment George was actually crying. He was glad to see his family again. The only ones missing were Josh and his Father. He gazed to his Mother and smiled at his siblings and visibly relaxed, all the tension from several months behind enemy lines draining from him. As he gazed around and saw the others he nodded and then bend his head down and nuzzled Angela who was beside him affectionately. It was then that they noticed that George kept a foreleg in a cradled position and noticed the loose covering on it. Lysa immediately glared at the wound.

"Son, what happened?" George chuckled and explained to them about all that had happened, he then noted Calawai and motioned to the knight with his wing.

"If Calawai hadn't interceded when he did I'd have been killed." Lysa glanced to the Royal Knight, still in his armor and gave an appreciative nod. George then turned to Bertram.

"Well, our home is free again and the enemy is in full retreat. So, where's Father?"

"He was on board the _Indomitable_ last I checked. He was currently destroying what was left of the _Chimera_." George nodded.

"That's good to hear. That monstrocity caused enough damage. Still though, I find it odd that Mechanos didn't send more forces, despite the failsafes he had planned. This whole action... is seemed more like an action to draw something out than to actually hold the city." Bertram nodded.

"Indeed. Kiln, the enemy ace who killed Ayatane, mentioned something about Operation Serpent and that they 'could not afford to fail'. I think Mechanos has just about reached his wits end with Marks and the 666th." Carmine, who had been with them, suddenly looked up in shock.

"Excuse me, but did you say Operation _Serpent_?" George looked to him.

"Carmine, what is it?" Carmine paled.

"Operation Serpent was an operational order given to us when we first invaded Syllia. It had only one parameter: find, capture, and interrogate any member of the Syllian Royal Family, meaning the de Launces, or failing that, a member of their vassal families. I don't know why he would mention it though... it's not as if they could get to us now... wait a minute..." Carmine turned to Lysa.

"Your Majesty, Captain de Launces is curently at sea, correct?" Lysa nodded.

"Yes his force is assisting with land operations expanding the Tellanian front." Carmine nodded.

"So he's out of reach... we're safe inside the city..." Carmine suddenly gazed at Lysa, realization flooding in.

"That leaves only one person unaccounted for..." George went wide-eyed as he realized what he meant and looked to the dragons and soldiers nearby.

"All Dracocorps on alert! The King is in danger! Take off and try and find him, immediately!"

That shout was enough to make even the most tired of dragon leap to his or her feet and launch into the air. Only the wounded didn't rise. George gazed in the direction of the Tower and gaped at the damage.

"How the hell did _that_ happen?" Bertram glanced to the Tower and growled.

"A bomber went on a suicide run. We thought it was just desperation but what if that was actually planned? The Tower gate is the only way for human forces to quickly get out of the city in case of a counterattack or the need to push an advance." George nodded and then looked to his brother and then Zafra and Caldor.

"I'm not going to be much use with this wound, find Dad, get him back here safely."

As Bertram nodded an air raid siren split the sky and a radio nearby came to life.

_"This is an alert to all Syllian forces, a Rotarian transport has just made a hard landing outside the city. Be advised remaining OAC forces are rallying to the aircraft. Any forces capable of maneuvering, make way to the outer wall and man what defences are still servicable."_

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The radio in the vehicle had caught the transmission and James' hand gripped harder onto the handle of his revolver as he glanced at his driver and gave a long look at the man. At first glance, the sergeant would have appeared to have been a member of the Partisans with how ruffled his uniform was, then again, that would have been to the normal human eye. James silently focused his dragon senses and caught several scents that would not have been present on a member of the Partisans, or for that matter, a Sergeant whose uniform placed him as a tank mechanic.

The first was adrenaline, not the sort from running into or away from danger but the kind that people released when they knew that they were doing something either illegal or something that, if caught, could get them killed. The next was gunpowder, not unusual but then it coupled with aviation grease and aircraft fuel, subtle, but it was there. Slowly, James drew the revolver and pointed it to the driver.

"Bold. Very bold, indeed. I asume you must be a Rotarian soldier dressed as one of ours so let's have a name." The soldier grimaced but sighed.

"They told me that you were sharp. I suppose it was too much to hope that you would remain oblivious. Name's Lieutenant Derrick Stiger, Rotarian Intelligence Corps. I've been instructed to abduct you, as per Operation Serpent's parameters, and take you to Mechanos." James caught that and glanced to him.

"Don't you mean _Emperor_ Mechanos?" Stiger chuckled.

"A few weeks ago I would have said that. Truth is, I'm a Royalist. The only difference is that, unlike the people at the front I actually have an inkling as to what's happened back home. Your Majesty, it is a safe bet to assume that the war is all but over. Roughly seventy to eighty-five percent of the Rotarian forces have defected or outright surrendered. We have you and your son to thank for Princess Ayura's safety." James nodded but kept the weapon ready, the man didn't seem to be lying but he was aware that spies were all about keeping calm no matter the situation.

"So why the abduction?" Stiger nodded.

"Mechanos has all but become a recluse. He hardly ever sets foot back on the mainland, instead spending time in his citidel on Black Sand Island. I'm in intelligence but even _we_ don't know what he's up to on the godforsaken spit of land. All we know is that besides him and his assistant, some armor plated guy everyone calls Mr. Sir, there are at least seventeen other people on that island who are as brillient, if not more so, than Mechanos. Their studies range from aerodynamics to metallurgy to even crystal technology and something called 'nuclear physics'." _That_ got James' undivided attention.

"Some are there because they still believe Mechanos can win the war while others are there after being drugged and spirited there against their wills. I dont know what Mechanos is planning but I am sure it can't be good. This may be an abduction, Your Majesty, but I see no other course of action. Whatever that madman is working on, he's had three years to complete it and it likely is nearly at that stage. We _must_ stop him before he uses whatever superweapon his twisted mind has created now." James nodded, now understanding what was being asked of him.

"You need me to, under the guise of being captured, spy on Mechanos and, if possible, disrupt his machinations." Stiger shook his head.

"Not disrupt sir. Destroy. Mechanos... he's been in contact with several nations of the far west and the south. Namely: The Tai-Lang Empire, the Kingdom of Rhein, and the Tovoro Republic. All of whom maintained neutrality but at the same time worked with a sort of 'lend-lease' agreement. They would provide Mechanos with materials and manpower in return for blueprint copies of everything he created. I don't have any proof, but I'm pretty sure that Mechanos has shipped a fair amount of his research back to Tai-Lang and Rhein." James nodded but inside his stomach dropped.

The Tai-Lang Empire, a nation to the extreme south, was almost as well known for its winters as Northumbria. It was also known for it's constant border and sea conflicts with its neighbors, the Shanghai Repblic and the Island Kingdom of Ursae. Rhein was almost the same, having several small conflicts with the Republic of Land's End and then there was Tovoro who still felt resentment to the State of Austein for the sinking of the Grand Fifth fleet some sixty years ago. He gazed to Stiger and braced himself.

"I take it that this is not the worst news." Stiger nodded.

"Astutely put sir. Rotiart, geographically, is a very rich nation in materials. The mountain ranges have excessive amounts of iron, copper, tin, tungsten, sodium, and various other elements. However, we lack all but some small deposits of uranium, the radioactive 'fuel' for Mechanos' Ragnarok weapons. He's been having that shipped in from both Rhein which, by all accounts is lousy with the stuff, and Tai-Lang which agreed in exchange for research pertaining on how to weaponize it." James groaned.

"He's building a pyre for the world to end in a nuclear holocaust..." Stiger nodded.

"That is our fear. If every aggressor nation has nuclear weapons and drops them at the drop of a hat, how long before the world as we know it ceases to exist." James then gazed back and sighed.

"That can't be all there is to it... I don't know why... but I just feel there has to be something more to it..." Stiger shrugged.

"It's possible. Mechanos has a lot of skeletons in his closet. RIC has, perhaps, uncovered a few dozen spanning back several years back when he was a simple industrialist who struck gold during an excavation. He was responsible for the sinking of the steam-powered submarine _Glasgow_ back in 1876, he believed that the sub had been the vessel that rammed a transport carrying several million in gold bullion. Shortly after that, he shifted his focus to developing submarines for the Rotarian Navy and from there went into full-scale military technology." James nodded.

"Anything unusual pertaining to the war?" Stiger nodded.

"Yeah. Originally, the gnorcs in Avalon were neutral and were focusing on their own problems. They apparently made themselves a mint salvaging ships sunk during the Dalon Conflict. Mechanos approached them with a transport ship full of weapons, gold, and materials all for a series of salvage operations near the gnorc territory. Judging from how many there was, Mechanos was after something big. Funny thing is construction on Black Sand Island started after the last salvage operation was complete." Stiger glanced to James who was staring at him.

"I suppose that by the look on your face you have an idea as to what he was salvaging." James recovered from his surprise and nodded.

"It's a long shot but... after the Dalon Conflict, the gnorcs had cutting crews scouring the wreckage of the _Poseidon_ to clear the harbor. By all accounts the wreckage was covered in radioactive dust from Dalon's experiments and what was raised was then towed out to sea and scuttled close to the Mauritanian Abyss. Is that the location of the salvage operations?" Stiger nodded, which made James place his hand to his head.

"So that confirms it. Mechanos was salvaging the _Poseidon_ and has reincarnated it Black Sand Island. Damn... I had honestly thought I'd seen the last of that damn fortress when the last section was scuttled. Now you're telling me the only way to get to Mechanos is to go through that old fortress again." Stiger nodded.

"I know Your Majesty. I've actually been in the facility a few times. Despite Mechanos' efforts, there are still signs of battle in the metal frame of the fortress as well as some old markings. There's even a few sections that have been sealed off and welded shut and forgotten by the staff. Now, the facility is divided into thirteen buildings. I've only been in three of the facilities so I can't tell you much about any other buildings. There is something strange though. There is a center tower on the peak of the mountain with what looks to be electrical cables running to four other buildings." James gazed at him.

"What's so special about these buildings?" Stiger shrugged.

"Don't know. All I have is something said in passing. A couple of guys in white lab coats were talking about how the CCC was taxing the power plants to the extreme. They were whispering because apparently the CCC, whatever the hell that stands for, is a pet project of Mechanos and thus critisizing the project is the same as critisizing Mechanos. They also said, in rather hushed tones, that he was a fool for trying to 'play God' as it were." James nodded.

"Man has a God complex. Figures." Stiger nodded.

"Indeed. Another instance we have found of his early days was that he once patented a theorem that mankind can manipulate weather using specific alchemical formulae. For example, he explains that 'seeding' a dormant cloud with water as well as salt could lead to turning a regular cloud into a rain-bearing cloud. Once the seeding is complete, it just needs a negative and positive charge to start the rainfall. Another was a machine capable of generating vast quantities of fog. Can you think of any such way an application like that would be sane or make sense?" James thought for a moment and then nodded.

"As for rain making, Syllian storm dragons have been doing that for quite some time and I have come to understand their abilities quite well. Now for the fog, if such a thing were possible, it could be used to shroud an area with a thick fog. Perhaps an area where you wouldn't wish anyone to be seen or anyone to see what you were doing." James suddenly had a thought.

"A more diabolical purpose would be to create fog banks around areas of seawater that are known spots for coral reefs. Generate a cloud of fog large enough to blanket Lawson's Reef just to the west of Peninsula City for instance, and you'd have no end of chaos. True there are failsafes, lighthouses, bouys, and the like but lighthouses can be turned off and bouys sabotaged. One instance I recall was a disgruntled fisherman who sailed out to Egret Cove and sabotaged a bouy marking an underwater rock formation by removing the bell and light crystal." Stiger nodded, knowing full well what was coming.

"Not one hour after he did so than the merchant passenger liner _Dorian Calcutta_ sailed into the sea lane, got lost in the fog, struck the rock formation and sank in less than half an hour, taking some six-hundred out of her eight-hundred thirty seven passengers and crew with her." Stiger grimaced.

"I hope the man responsible was caught." James shook his head.

"The fisherman's target was the fishing schooner _Lady Ardell_, which he had learned was in the area. He had no knowledge that the _Dorian Calcutta_ was in the area until he saw the ship coming out of the fog. He tried to signal the ship by firing flares but the fog was so thick the bridge crew accounts report never seeing a flare of any sort. Having realized what he had done, the man tied his own boat anchor to his feet and consigned himself to the depths. Bottom line, if the factors align properly, even the safest and best charted waters can be treacherous in fog."

"Well then, let's hope that Mechanos' weather machines never made it past the patent office. Can you imaging the havoc he would create?" James grimaced.

"I saw it before, a few times, when Dalon was alive. He had tried to play God himself by creating soldiers called 'Automen'. Corpses with the entrails replaced with machinery and powered by dark crystals. After the conflict, I urged that all of Dalon's research be declared top secret and sealed away but alas, I fear that Dalon left only his inconsequential designs behind in his tower when he left for Avalon. His more recent, and revolutionary, ideas, I've been told, he kept in a safe in the _Poseidon_. A safe that, despite our searching the wreckage for, we never located it." Stiger suddenly stopped the vehicle and gave James a flat look.

"What kind of safe? How big was it? Who made it? How did it open?" James shrugged.

"It was a large cabinet-type safe. Solid steel construction, eight interlocking tumblers, two combination wheels. If I recall it was a safe he had specially ordered from Stephens Security in Royalis. It also had one extra failsafe, the combination opened only _one_ lock. You needed a key to completely unlock the safe and it was built so well that not even the water pressure at the Abyss could have crushed it and that a fire dragon breathing flames at the hightest possible temperature couldn't have melted it." James suddenly chuckled.

"That was another failsafe. Dalon _hated_ dragons. If a dragon tried to melt the safe to get access to it, it had a interior lining of lead that, once the heat reached it; the metal would melt, destroying anything of value inside." Stiger's stare didn't waver.

"The Stephens Security Firm... was their buisness crest an eagle of some sort?" This time James gave him a look.

"How do you know that? Stephens Security went bankrupt six years before the Dalon Conflict and to my knowledge they never shipped a safe outside Syllia." Stiger took a breath to steady himself and looked back to James.

"Mechanos has an old safe in his office. He never cleaned it up and it looked to have been on the bottom of the ocean for several years. He wears the key for it around his neck and stores all his research, patents, and blueprints in that safe. The safe you just described as belonging to Dalon is a perfect match to the one in Mechanos' office, only dingier and rustier." James broke his glance and redirected his eyes to the road.

"Drive on Stiger. If what I've heard of Mechanos is truth, he _hates_ to be kept waiting. I charge you with this though. Once we get there, you better have a damn good plan about getting us out of there before Mechanos decides he'd rather have me as a hostage to sue for peace rather than as a specialist in my field because there is no way in hell that the Syllian council would consider ceasing conflict just to save my life after all that Mechanos has done." Stiger nodded.

"Already have one sir. Once you reach Black Sand Island though, you'll have to make contact with the scientists and experts who are not entirely on board with Mechanos' crazy plots. I only know of two at the moment: Professor Boris Kolber from the Tellanian Institute of Mechanical Engineering and Mr. Sir." James glanced at him.

"Mechanos' own assistant?" Stiger shrugged.

"I only know part of his story sir. Apparently he was near death when Mechanos made him a devil's deal: life in exchange for his skills. Don't know how it worked but I'm pretty sure Mr. Sir's armor _isn't_ just for show. From what I've seen of him and heard in passing, his original body is actually _grafted_ into the suit of armor." James snorted.

"An Automan with a soul. From what I gathered from Dalon's papers it was possible to do but extremely dangerous. Mechanos must have been _extremely_ sure of his success or this Mr. Sir was exceedingly desperate to live. So I take it the transport will take me to Mechanos?" Stiger nodded.

"One flight, non-stop. Can't risk you 'escaping' while we attempt to refuel the plane. The plane has been stripped down to the bare essentials: no armor, no weapons, and room for only four passengers and two crew, the rest is a large fuel tank. Me and you, we're two of the four passengers. Then there's the crew, and two seats for any VIPs, if any, that Mechanos can't allow to fall into Syllian hands. The rest are expendable. Cannon fodder." James nodded to him and then gazed upwards when the sound of roaring filled the sky and he sighed.

"As much as I hate the idea of doing this, I suppose there is no alternative, is there?" Stiger shook his head sadly.

"No sir. Now then, we have to make your capture look convincing." He reached inside his coat and produced a pair of handcuffs and chuckled at James' expression.

"Don't get me wrong, I have little hope that these alone'll hold you. So, for the ruse to be successful, I have to ask you that you appear to be drugged." James gave a bare nod and gave a glance back up to the sky before looking back to Stiger.

"So be it. Well, I'd recognize that roar anywhere, my mate, my son, and my daughter are in the air, looking for me. We'd best hurry it up." Stiger nodded solumnly and then pushed down harder on the accelerator.

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The transport had come down a little _too_ heavily for Marks' liking. As the plane sat there and he cautiously gazed around at the sound of the cacophany of irate and frantic dragons roaring their heads off. The soldiers of the OAC who had made it here were standing by with whatever they had in hand. Some had barely gotten out of Launces with their sidearms, others had managed to grab rifles and machineguns from the fallen and werte hastily setting up their posts to defend the aircraft.

Of course, they had been told that more transports were coming in to get them out of here before the dragons swooped down upon them.

This, of course, was a clever lie on Marks' behalf. He lad little doubt that if they knew that Mechanos was leaving them at the mercy of Syllian dragons, they would have stormed aboard the transport and tried to take off and doom themselves and Marks' mission in the process. That was something that Marks wouldn't, _couldn't_, allow to happen. He had sacrificed too much to ensure this mission's success. He'd lost the rest of his squadron, including Kiln, and was now the sole surviving member of the once feared 666th Squadron. As he contemplated this, a vehicle came rolling up to the transport and he saw a sergeant pulling a handcuffed, seemingly drugged or drunken man out of the other side.

As Marks drew his sidearm and yelled to the soldiers, the sergeant pulled a paper from his belt.

"I am Lieutenant Stiger, RIC! Operation Serpent is a success! Colonel Marks, prepare for immediate take-off!" Marks spared a glance to the handcuffed man and gasped aloud as he recognized him and then ran back into the cockpit while another OAC soldier struggled to help Stiger get his prisoner into the transport. Inside, he pushed James to the seat directly across from where he was to sit and looked to the soldier who had helped him.

"Sir, if we want to end the war, why not just end him here and now?" There was a harrumph from the cockpit as Marks came in.

"My thoughts exactly. King James de Launces is a powerful figure. If he was to die, the Syllians would surely-" Stiger raised his hand to silence him.

"The Syllians would unleash hellfire upon us. Intel has all but confirmed that it is possible that the Syllian military has developed their own nuclear weapons. The King's vote has been the most powerful voice in denial of using them. We execute him like this, the Syllians won't think twoce about giving us a taste of our own medicine. Besides, these are Emperor Mechanos' orders. I trust, Colonel, that you are not going to dispute the Emperor's orders in this matter?" Marks paled and shook his head and then unceremoniously dismissed the OAC soldier with them while he went to start up the engines.

As they started up, he yelled back through the open door to the cockpit.

"Make sure he's secured fairly well. The two VIPs didn't make it, so it's just the four of us going home. Get to your seat and buckle up because this is going to be a fast take-off." As Marks started the engines, he keyed the radio.

"This is Colonel Marks to any loyal Rotarian fighters still in the air: Operation Serpent has been a success. We have secured our target and are taking off. Prepare to assume escort roles."

James gazed at Marks and felt a strong sense of disgust and anger.

"So... that's the bastard who's been trying to kill my son..." Stiger nodded.

"Yes sir. That's Marks. He, like the rest of the veteran pilots, is on Mechanos' last nerve. Word had it that if he screwed this up and returned, Mechanos was going to see him executed. He still might when he learns he took off without the VIPs or if any harm comes to you while you're in transit."

James gazed out the window of the transport and saw the ground speeding by as the aircraft gained speed. Then, as Marks pulled back on the stick and the aircraft started to climb, James caught sight of Lysa, Bertram, Zafra, and Shimmer winging their way towards the transport.

He knew that Lysa was gazing at the transport intently and saw her expression change from one of anger to confusion, and then finally horror. Then Marks banked the aircraft and set his heading towards Rotiart. Even at the distance they were at and at the rate of speed they were climbing and flying forwards, he still heard the echo of her anguished roar as the plane flew upwards through the clouds and out of her sight. He reached down into his coat pocket and felt the small blue spirit crystal in his pocket and sighed.

"I'm probably going to catch all manner of hell for this stunt." Stiger nodded.

"Well, imagine what you'll unleash once Mechanos realizes you're not as complacent as he probably believes." James growled.

"If he tries anything, I can kill him in several ways." Stiger chuckled.

"I have no doubts about that. Immediately, disecting him with your claws piece by piece comes to mind." James nodded to him and then gazed as the land flew underneath.

"I shall return. Of that, you can be assured of. And I will return with Mechanos' head on a pole."

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To be continued...


	66. Kicking In The Door

Well, here we go with another chapter in World Fury. It is now February, January is gone, the second season of The Expanse is on TV (yay!), a new show, APB, is on, and exverything is just rolling along nicely.

Well, now if you'll excuse me, I have to call my Aunt Tammy and ask her if she saw her shadow on the 2nd. The rest of the world depends on the Groundhog but my family depends on Aunt Tammy.

On with the story!

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 65: Kicking In The Door

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The mood was angry. The people of Launces were relieved that they were no longer occupied but no one cheered, no one sang, no one celebrated. The castle was almost dark, very few lights were on. After recognizing James in the transport being abducted, Lysa had tried to pursue the aircraft but in the end was too exhausted to follow as it vanished from sight. The few remaining OAC soldiers fought valiantly for a moment before realizing that there was no rescue coming and hastily surrendered in order to avoid facing destruction at the claws of over a hundred irate dragons.

After the Syllian forces interrogated the OAC officers, they were then turned over to the Royalist Rotarian forces for internment. Still, the fact that James de Launces, the King of Syllia, was captured disheartened the Syllian forces. Lysa found herself bombarded with various plans ranging from a full-scale assaults, armored blitz tactics, a massive airborne assault, a amphibeous landing and even a plan which combined all the previous plans which, to her mind, was impractical.

In Launces, the generals had established a war room of sorts in the throne room and had a map of the continent spread out on a large table.

Following the battle for Launces, Rotarian forces had effectively been routed from the area and had been forced to retreat all the way back to the Syllia/Tellanos border. At last report, Royalist Rotarian (RR) forces had deadlocked Loyalist Rotarian (LR) forces at the ruins of Union City. Syllian forces from Peninsula City had linked up with the Schildhaven forces and had retaken the capital city of Stauffenberg.

Northumbrian forces, in conjunction with Nevoran, Tellanian, and Espan forces, had pushed the LR back across Northumbria and into Tellanos, liberating the city of Mursk. The Tellanian front had also been bolstered by the news of the victory and the combined forces of Praetoria, Syllia, Espan, Anozira, Tullinar and Tellanos had launched three seperate attacks from Dovograd heading north, northwest, and west.

The front line wasn't the most stable at the moment but the intel wasn't wrong. Essentially, seven-thousand LR forces were surrounded at Union City, and their closest allied forces were halfway across Tellanos in what was being called a 'fighting withdrawal'. The LR was essentially routed but their commanders refused to give up the fight.

A fact that made Lysa in a particularly irate mood.

Not only was she being forced to divert forces needed to cross Tellanos to stamp out this last bastion of resistance, the LR was doing a damned good job of defending their positions. She had honestly wondered what it was going to take to dislodge and obliterate the remaining LR forces. Hoping to try and set her mind at ease, she left the castle and went to the Dracocorps dragon hospital where, despite being almost fully healed thanks to the Blood Rite awakening, Caldor was still being sequestered and under the watchful eye of Zafra.

The hospital was large compared to human buildings which, considering the patients, was natural. Caldor's room was at the far end of the hall and Lysa was momentarily stunned when she caught sight of seven light dragons, each wearing the archaic armor of the Knights of the Blood-Rite, standing at attention outside. The dragons inclined their heads respectfully to her as she neared and when she entered, she caught sight of Lord Palas the Behemoth lying near the far side of the room, sharing a laugh with Caldor and Zafra about something said before she had entered. Palas immediately dipped his head to her as he rose to leave before turning back to Caldor.

"Once you are rested enough, find me and we'll decide on the best course of action to take next. As the son of Illuma, and as one who just learned of his abilities, you have a lot of catching up to do so that you can call on your powers at will instead of being near death." Caldor nodded his thanks and then looked to Zafra and then to Lysa and inclined his head. Lysa nodded to him and sighed.

"Sorry I haven't been by sooner Zafra, Caldor; but I've been at my wit's end with worry and it doesn't help that every general in the field is throwing plans left and right to see which one sticks. My mind has already gone over the worse case scenarios about what Mechanos may be doing to James." Zafra gazed at her grandmother and nodded.

"I know Grams. Still, Mechanos knows that if he does indeed do _something_ to hurt him that he may as well leap from a cliff onto some sharp, pointy rocks. The prisoners all said something about 'Operation Serpent' which was to capture a member of our family..." Caldor then looked to Lysa.

"Your Majesty, here's a thought, though not a pleasant one. Mechanos may not have captured the King because he is simply 'the King of Syllia'. He may have had him captured because before he was the King, he was a Mechanist, the same as Mechanos. I mean, I know His Majesty would _never_ consent to building anything for Mechanos unless he was put into a position of duress. What I'm thinking is, just what all has His Majesty invented or knows how to make that Mechanos would want?" Lysa gave him a sharp glance that she quickly relaxed and sighed.

"Too much. James is a great inventor but, like all inventors, even he makes mistakes or invents something that flops. One of his greatest successes was the pioneering of crystal energy, but the first device he made that used crystal energy, the Juggernaut, was a failure." Zafra looked to Lysa curiously.

"The Juggernaut? I never heard of that one." Lysa nodded.

"It only existed for one battle, many years ago when the rogue Slayer Corps occupied a fortress in Schildhaven. It was a massive suit of armor that used hydraulics to move and was armed with a light cannon and a heavy machinegun. The suit performed well but the drain on the crystals was too much for it to be effective, plus the armor required a few too many special parts to function, thus making it too expensive for the military to accept." She turned her gaze out the window and sighed.

"Plus... something happened during the battle. I... I never knew what had occured but, after returning, James had the Juggernaut scrapped and the blueprints for it destroyed. By what accounts I was able to dig up, the Juggernaut alone accounted for roughly forty percent of the casualties inflicted. There was also the incident in the Dalon Conflict."

"During the last battle, James and the Dragoons encountered soldiers using a weapon called a flamethrower. It was a device that, according to James, was originally intended to burn away obstructions such as wooden barriers and hedgerows and allow the infantry to proceed to their target." Zafra nodded.

"I remember hearing about that one. Apparently, Dalon figured out that adding gel powder to the fuel mixture created something he called 'napalm' that stuck to whatever was hit with the spray. Anyway, Dalon armed some soldiers with these new flamethrowers, sent them into battle, and they caused mass havoc until snipers started taking shots at the explosive tanks on their backs." Lysa nodded.

"Indeed. A device intended to be used as a tool was remade into a weapon of terror. The worst fear most humans have is burning alive, and a weapon that inflicts such fear and injuries upon people is a soldier's worst nightmare. That is James' worst fear, that a creation of his may be used for great evil. He will not bend to Mechanos' will easily." Zafra nodded and then gazed out the window and saw several large bombers and then motioned a wing to them.

"Grams, what do you suppose they're up to?" Lysa rose and gazed out the window and immediately sighed.

"_That_, I assume, is General Hartwig's idea. We need to break through Union City to devote the entirety of our forces to the Tellanian campaign and he seems to think that launching a massive wave of bombers to obliterate what's left of the city is the only way. Ever since James finished the prototype of the new heavy bomber and rushed it into production, Hartwig has been absolutely foaming at the mouth to get a chance to put the new bomber through its paces." Zafra gazed at the large bombers and nodded.

"They do seem to be more impressive than the older bombers. How many does General Hartwig plan to launch into battle?" Lysa shrugged.

"I believe he plans to start off with fifty bombers from here and link up with several more formations as they advance. Unfortunately, the bombers leaving from here are the only new types, the rest are the older bombers. The Tellanians are all for the idea, as they said, 'giving the bastard a taste of his own medicine'. Apparently Hartwig got the idea after hearing of Mechanos' 'round the clock' bombing of Chamberlain." Zafra nodded and then looked to her.

"Is Uncle Bertram escorting them?" Lysa shook her head.

"No, Bertram and his unit are needed further forward. The Rotarians, that is the _Royalists_, under Colonel Dieter Muntz's command, will be escorting them along with several flights from the Tellanians." Zafra returned her gaze out the window.

"Here's hoping that they can work together..." Lysa nodded as the first bomber, Hartwig's own _Modern Art Masterpiece_, was towed into position on the runway.

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Hartwig gave the signal to the ground crew as the tractor which had towed them onto the runway detatched it's tow arm and trundled away and then nodded to his co-pilot, Captain Jacob Winters.

"Well Jacob, while we wait for the other little ducklings to get behind momma, let's go through the checklist, get the girl ready for the dance." Jacob nodded and placed his headset on.

"Attention crew, we're going through the pre-flight checks. Sound off when your section is called. Bombadier?" The radio crackled and a woman's voice piped through.

_"Bombadier checking in, all systems clear. Ready for action."_

"Co-pilot copies Jenny, glad to be working with you again. Alright, Nose Gunner?"

Silence...

Growling, Jacob lifted his right foot and stomped down on the floor three times, _hard_.

"Bart! Pick up your damn radio!"

There was the sound of something being dropped and then a click.

_"Nose gunner here, sorry about that. Still... uh... 'aqainting' myself with the systems."_ There was a scoff.

_"Hardly. He's checking out some rather... revealing... literature that, if I wasn't used to his behavior, I'd find it insulting."_ Jacob coughed harshly and keyed the radio.

"Bart! Put that damn book away and go over your guns! Ahem... Oscar, how's life in the Bubble?"

_"Just fine, sir. Radio's working just fine, and I've just finished going over the Pathfinder. As soon as we're up, I'll get it going."_ Hartwig chuckled at that and gave a glance to Jacob.

"A radar station in a bomber. Who'd have ever believed it?" Jacob smiled and nodded and then went back to the radio.

"Okay, top gunners, belly gunners, sound off."

_"Wallis, top turret one, ready."_

_ "Beets, top turret two, ready."_

_ "Miles, top turret three, wilco."_

_ "Benny, belly gunner one, same here."_

_ "Ned, belly gunner two, ready to bark at the moon."_

_ "Joyce, belly gunner three, same as the rest of 'em."_

Jacob nodded and that and turned to Hartwig.

"Sir, all positions have checked in at the ready. We are all clear for take-off." Hartwig nodded.

"Alright, give me the flight order list. Who are we going up with first?" Jacob nodded and produced a list.

"First off, there's us the 408th. A Wing is first with us in the lead. We've got _The Flying Anvil_, _The Barbershop Quartet_, and _Ill Winds _with us. Then we go to B Wing. Formation lead is _Eight Kilts and a Skirt_, followed by _Ma Belle_, _Kiloton Can-opener_, and _Five Alarm Fire_. Next is C Wing with _Door Knocker _in the lead followed by _Hello Dolly_, _Man O' War_, and _First Rate Headache_. Our group is rounded out with D Wing led by _Son of Thunderer_, they're followed by _Monte Zuma's Revenge_, _The Jolly Bomber_, and _The Mile High Club_." Hartwig nodded.

"Alright that's the first take-off group. Who's next?" Jacob flipped the page on the log.

"Next is the 410, A and B Wings. A Wing is led by _Ace of Clubs_, which is in turn followed by _Ace of Spades_, _Ace of Diamonds_, and _Ace of Hearts_. B Wing is headed by _Aces &amp; Eights_, then they have _The Full House_, _Three of A Kind_, and _The Joker's Wild_." Hartwig scoffed.

"Boneheads. Don't they know the Ace of Spades is tops? Wait a tic... you said the 410?" Jacob nodded and Hartwig slumped in his seat.

"Damn. I owe those guys a chunk of change after that last poker game." Jacob chuckled.

"Unlucky in cards, lucky in love, sir?" Hartwig chuckled.

"Yeah. Happily married but as lucky as a black cat walking under a ladder with an upside-down horseshoe around it's neck and the number thirteen tattooed on both asscheeks." Jacob gave a whistle and turned the page again.

"Well, some good news here. We have the 522nd with us today. _Royal Mail_ is leading with _Special Delivery_ and _Whiskey Wringer_ on the wings and _Tarelton's Quarter _taking the rear-guard position." Hartwig nodded.

"522... good lot those lads. I flew with them at the start of the war. I wonder if ol' Piss and Vinegar Charlie is still the leader of that flight..." Jacob shrugged.

"Following them sir, we have the 555th. _Saturday Evening Post_, _Yesterday's News_, _The Late Edition_, and _Breaking Headlines_." Hartwig scowled.

"_Breaking Headlines_... yeah... if those bastards try that same shit they did over Avalon, I'm going to break something of their's and it _ain't _going to be headlines. It'll be plain old _heads_." Jacob chuckled at that and continued.

"Next up we have the 612th. _This Ain't The Army_ is flight lead followed by _Whirlin' Wittaker_, _Rainmaker_, and _Joe Melvin &amp; His Orchestra_." Hartwig nodded.

"Melvin... He's that composer who does ragtime in Cedarsberg isn't he? Also tried to start something with mirrored balls called 'disco' that never caught on?" Jacob nodded and Hartwig chuckled.

"Well, at least this trip won't be as silent as I'd feared. Who's next?" Jacob glanced at the list and paled.

"Great... just great... we got the FUBAR 711th flying rear guard for the whole formation. _Five o'clock Charlie_ is in the lead followed by _Bombs Away Bobo_, _Jennie Sue_, and _This Is Your Wakeup Call_." Hartwig 'hmm' ed to himself and gave a slight nod.

"Well what they lack in professionalism they make up for in having sheer dumb luck. Twenty-seven missions flown and always being shot to shit but still coming home with no losses, no reserve bombs, and all targets destroyed or damaged. An _interesting_ flight to be sure." Jacob nodded.

"At least the formation will get fleshed out once we pick up the other groups that'll be joining us." Hartwig nodded and then heard the tower clear him for take-off as he and Jacob started the engines of the B33 heavy bomber. As the engines whirred up to full power, Hartwig keyed the radio to all bombers.

"Attention, all bombers, this is _Modern Art Masterpiece._ We're taking the lead and bringing you lot to your target today. Once we're all up, set your course north-northwest for Union City. We're going to kick in the door."


	67. Unnerving Revelations

Hello everyone, well, I have returned and with a new chapter for World Fury. It took me a moment to actually piece it together and, believe it or not, I actually got some of it done by listening to some music my cousin had found for me.

Anyway, for those of you who are familiar with American football, did you know that the Alabama Crimson Tide's theme of 'Roll, Alabama, Roll Tide' was not originally used for college football but was originally a post-Civil War ballad to the Confederate raider _CSS Alabama_.

For those of you who are curious, you can actually find it on Youtube. Just go to Youtube, type in 'Number 292' (Roll, Alabama, Roll) and it should appear.

But I'm going off topic again, sorry, now then, onto the disclaimer.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 66: Unnerving Revelations

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_"I don't get why he named his bomber that. I mean, the name is supposed to be implicative of something. Yet that bomber is definately __**not**__ a modern art masterpiece. It looks like a cheap setting for an even cheaper horror movie. Those colors don't match at all."_ Dieter finally got sick of Brunswick's remarks and turned switched frequencies to the Tellanian radio.

"This is Ritter to Polaris. How are you boys doing?" The radio crackled a bit but the reply came through strong enough.

_"This is Polaris One. We're doing fine Colonel. Just enjoying the view."_ At that moment, Dieter's son Kaleb came over the radio.

_"The view? C'mon, it's the same damn sky everywhere you look. I'll admit, blue skies and white fluffy clouds __**are**__ preferable to dark skies and storm clouds but it's the same everywhere."_ The Tellanian pilot laughed.

_"You have very good sense of humor Squire. I know skies are same but there is different. By my maps, we are almost in __**Tellanian**__ airspace. A few more miles and we will be in the skies of our native motherland again."_

_"Yeah, well don't go singing that national anthem again or else I'll reach through this radio and strangle you with it."_ Dieter caught himself about to laugh as a bomber radioman came over the conversation. Polaris' voice dripped with fake indignation.

_"What is wrong with national anthem? It is good song."_

_ "Yeah well, it gets kinda old on the seventh rendition. If I wanted to hear the same song over and over, I'd switch the radio to Joe Melvin's aircraft. Guy brought a record player with all his 'greatest hits' on board with him. I know cause the damn crew's ready to crown him with it for playing the Same. Damn. Song. Over and over and over and over and over, again and again and again and again."_ There was laughter on the other end.

_"Yeah well, Ol' Joe's got rank. He's a Major, which is a high rank, which has certain perks. At least he's playing his ragtime hits and not those disco flops."_ There was a scoff.

_"You wanna bet? His damn bombadier just radioed requesting a transfer to another bomber. He even suggested opening the door and wing-walking to the nearest aircraft. It ain't ragtime he's playing, it's that damn disco."_ Dieter sighed.

"Well, if he'll have any sense, he'll stop playing it when we reach Union City otherwise this'll always be the day that disco died at forty-thousand feet." There was another chuckle.

_"Gee Colonel, you think we'll be that lucky?"_ It was another of Dieter's nuggets, kid named Rykter. Dieter chuckled.

"Well intel says that the enemy is basically cut off from all supplies. They're out of the heavy stuff and down to small arms weapons. No double-A or triple-A, no heavy weapons, no explosives, and nearly no food or water. This raid is just the big knockout punch. Send us in to land the KO while the infantry bypass it and continue on to the front. Speaking of which, I have our orders." Dieter took a moment to pull the letter from his flak jacket and started reading.

"Upon completion of bombing run, all bombers and fighters to report to Steele Valley Air Force Base just outside of Vladioska. There we are to rearm, refuel, and then join the 7712th and 8491st United Assault Group as they push on towards Lenninosk." At that a Tellanian came on.

_"Hey, Lenninosk, I'm from there. Any chance the city is still standing?"_ Dieter grimaced.

"From what reports we have a fair amount of the city was burned by the Tellanian Resistance to prevent it's capture but all it's done is play hell with our advance forces. Collapsed buildings are making a haven for snipers. We estimate remaining force there to be at least one-hundred but they're mostly snipers and have pinned down the entire Allied force in that area. No civilians remaining so we have clearance to level the entire city."

_"Attention all aircraft, this is the 545th Bomber Force, we are coming up on your left wings. We are accompanied by the 546th, 547th, 548th, and the 601st Bomber Wings. We also have the 1305th and 1306th Fighter Escort Groups. General Hartwig, I believe we bring the number under your command to just under 750 bombers and 420 fighters."_ There was a whistle from Hartwig's bomber and then the radio came on again.

_"This is General Hartwig, glad to have you boys with us. Just to let you know we are almost at our full number. We just have to meet up with the bombers from Gyladon and Snowbank Plateau."_ Dieter gave a silent breath at the numbers involved and keyed the radio.

"General, this is Ritter, just how many aircraft are we supposed to have for this raid?"

_"Somewhere in the neighborhood of 1,580 bombers and 840 fighter escorts. And we are __**all**__ to drop our payloads over Union City before continueing on to our next objective."_ Dieter gasped.

"Well, at least the enemies in Union City don't have any anti-air weapons or radar. There's no way in the Abyss we'd be able to hide the signature of all these aircraft." There was a laugh.

_"Well then, good thing we ain't hiding. Alright everyone. Mechanos' forces think that without our King, we are disheartened. Let's show them otherwise. God Save the King!"_

The last was echoed by the rest of the Syllian bombers and even Dieter keyed his radio and repeated it.

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_(Black Sand Island, off west coast of Rotiart, 75 miles from Shadowfell)_

As the formation of Syllian bombers were forming up in midair, a lone Rotarian transport with a small fighter escort was approaching an island. James glanced from his window and remained stoic despite the ominous sight before him.

Black Sand Island was known as such because the large mountain in the middle of the island was actually a lond dead volcano. Whereas a beach should have had perfect white sands, the island's beaches were choked with black volcanic sand. The beaches were not pristine though. There were several structures all over the island and all were connected by roads and long, reinforced iron walkways that wove a spiderweb across the island. All the buildings were dominated by a large tower that rose from the ground near the peak and towered over the rest of the structures. As he watched, the transport slowly yawed to the right and he heard the sound of the landing gear dropping and the radio coming on.

"This is Serpent, requesting permission to land."

_"This is BSI Control, clearance granted. Report immediately upon landing to Building 6. The Emperor wishes to meet your 'guest' __**personally**__."_

"Serpent copies. Beginning landing." James gave a glance to Stiger who was still beside him and he gave a nod.

"BSI, Black Sand Island. As part of the security, and because the volcanic sand plays hell with plane engines, the airport is actually underground. Only the control tower and the runways are on the surface. From there, there's an underground road that runs from the airport to the housing building where the staff, soldiers, and scientists are all housed. From there, you will be taken to Mechanos' Tower, Building 6." James nodded and then gazed at several other buildings.

"I think I see one of those buildings you were speaking about. The... CCC? Has a cable running up the side of the volcano." Stiger nodded.

"Yeah and, like I said, they are Top Secret. There is also another, smaller, building almost right beside Mechanos' Tower that only Mechanos himself has access to. The guards at the building are a strange bunch, never leaving their posts, never showing up at the barracks to eat, drink, or rest. And they have orders to shoot to kill anyone other than Mechanos who approaches Building 7." Stiger looked back to the cockpit but then glanced back to James.

"By the way, just so you know, do _NOT_ shift into your dragon form here. Mechanos has over three hundred dread griffons here on this island and they act as the security force in the event of a Level 5 Code Red. And a dragon appearing in the middle of the island would certainly warrant an alert." James nodded as the transport dropped lower and then touched down on the runway on the island.

As the engines slowed down, James suddenly felt a lurch and saw the ground rising up and realized the transport was on a lift that was going _down_ into the ground. Almost instantly, the transport was bathed in artificial light as the lift slowly lowered the aircraft into the subterranean hangar. An alarm horn echoed around them as the lift slowed and then stopped with a sudden jerk. James looked around and saw Marks rise from his seat and come back to the body, a look of relief evident on his face.

"We've arrived. Lieutenant, take His Majesty here and deliver him to Building 6. The Emperor wishes to see him." Stiger nodded and then walked to James, giving him an apologetic look before roughly pulling him up and shoving his sidearm into James' side.

"Let's go. Colonel, I assume that transport is awaiting outside?" Marks nodded.

"Pulled up just as the lift shut off. Well, Your Majesty, I can certainly say you are the first, and most important, piece of cargo I've ever had to drag across a continent. Hopefully, I'll be back in a fighter, and never have to pilot one of _these _ever again." James blinked his eyes groggily which made Marks look to Stiger.

"He looks almost comatose, what the hell did you give him and how much?" Stiger rolled his eyes.

"Had to adjust the dose and readminister the drug mid-flight. Damn dragon-in-human-body bullshit. He looks human but he's got a dragon's metabolism. Damn drug worked it's way through his system quicker than normal." Marks growled.

"Damn dragons. What I can't understand is how the hell can dragons live amongst us without us even realizing it?" Stiger shrugged.

"How the hell can a dragon become King of a human nation unopposed? Any _true_ human would be ready to storm the gates and slay a reptile trying to dominate humankind." Marks nodded.

"Yeah. Damn dragon-loving Syllians... Right, well as long as he isn't too out of it to hold a decent conversation with the Emperor I guess there's no harm done. Let's go."

James was guided to the door of the plane. He hated having to act out of it but it was neccessary in order to avert suspicion. As he left the plane, he saw a vehicle that looked similar to a Syllian Multi-Purpose Vehicle. Stiger got in on the passenger-rear side, beside him, Marks got in the front, and the driver, a corporal, started the engine and started off. As they crossed the hangar bay and drove towards what looked like a large steel door was, the corporal flipped a switch.

"Colonel Alfred Marks, Lieutenant Derrick Stiger, and Prisoner. Operation Serpent, authorization code: Delta-Sigma-Echo-Nine-Two-Alpha-Eight."

The sound of metal locks echoed and the doors slowly opened as the vehicle approached. When the doors fully opened, James was stunned by what he saw. A truly _massive_ underground tunnel. The driver accelerated through the entrance and immediately moved over into one of the four lanes marked on the ground. As they sped by, James could see multiple vehicles, soldiers, and other pieces of military equipment. There were also checkpoints that, ordinarily, stopped vehicles, but for this vehicle, they didn't stop it.

The ride was uneventful until they approached a turn off with a marker listed as Facility No. 10: Eastern CCC/ Facility No. 3: Asset Housing. The driver slowed the vehicle down and turned right, coming to another checkpoint which, for the first time, stopped them. The officer produced a clipboard and glanced to the driver.

"Vehicle DSE92A8? Move to the Blue Line, continue past Checkpoint F10, and proceed to Area F3. Be advised, General Abernathy will be coming through with an inspection party to check the CCC Facilities and Captain Davies is still in the midst of tunnel inspections. Also, we've been getting some shocks which has the eggheads at the Research Center a little on edge." The driver nodded and the officer let the vehicle pass.

James took care to memorize everything he saw. To be honest, his mind was actually curious despite himself how the Rotarians, no _Mechanos_, had been able to do this. Syllia had tunnels that cut through mountains to alow for vehicles and trains to pass but nothing on this large or grand a scale. He wanted to ask Stiger if he knew how long the tunnels were but knew that, for the moment, he should remain silent.

The vehicle continued on for about three minutes until the driver pulled over near what looked to be a large foundation for a building and killed the engine. Marks gazed back to Stiger and James.

"At last check, the Emperor was in his tower, in the study. He is likely still waiting. We'll take the lift here up to the fifth floor of the building, then cross the catwalk to Facility 1, and from the we cross to the Tower." Stiger nodded and helped James out of the vehicle who roughly shook his shoulder at Stiger's grasp which made Marks smile.

"So, His _Majesty_ has finally joined us? Allow me to intruduce myself, I am-" James lifted a hand and scowled.

"Colonel Alfred Marks, Commander of the 666th Air Wing. Yes, I know who you are. I made it a point to study the man who has _tried _to kill my youngest son on _several _occasions." Marks gazed at James and then sneered.

"I'm flattered. So, what do you know?" James gave a sneer that unnerved Marks despite his calm outward appearance.

"I. Know. _Everything_. Born Alphonse Edward Leeds on the Thirty-First day of Hallow, 1902, you were the youngest of eight children and despite being the baby of the family, your penchant for getting yourself and your older siblings into trouble frayed on both your parents."

"On your tenth birthday, you were purposefully left behind where you were found by a military officer who, once he learned of your family and their refusal to take you back, he adopted you, changed your name to Albert Jacob Daniels and enlisted you into the military academy where he taught."

Marks looked as if he had been slapped by a mermaid. Stiger meanwhile found it difficult to hold in the laughter that was trying to burst forth. Seeing his intended target squirming, James's smile broadened and he continued.

"While at the academy, you met a beautiful lass by the name of Monica Daniels who was the _only_ daughter of the base commander, your adopted father's older brother, so, your adopted cousin. The two of you immediately realized that you shared the same birthday, had the same penchant for pranks, and on your sixteenth birthday's things went a step further. Albeit, unintentionally."

Marks face was turning, to James' eye, a wonderful hybrid shade of embarrassed and furious. Marks' emotions didn't know whether to about face and storm off indignantly or cock back a fist and try to knock James' block off in anger. James didn't give him a moment to think, and gave him the other barrel of his intelligence 'shotgun'. Stiger managed to keep a straight face but inside he had gone slackjawed in shock.

"Word got around, as gossip always does, and before you could count your stars, your adopted father had you transferred to another academy and resigned his post in the face of his furious older brother." Marks spluttered in indignation and James nodded to him.

"Turns out, by the way, you _did_ get your 'cousin' pregnant but she had a miscarriage and died in childbirth, it was a girl. In an effort to evade her wrathful father, who had swore to kill you should he see you again, you changed your name again to Alphonse Jacob Marx, at least until you heard about the Marx Murders of 1925 and then, out of fear, changed it yet again to the current Alfred Lee Marks."

Marks was struggling to maintain his composure. James had just blown the door off of Marks' closet and started yanking the skeletons out one by one. All the while, James had slowly shifted small things, his eyes, his teeth, his senses, so that Marks couldn't help but realize what he had standing before him. A _dragon_. A creature that, if he so willed it, could shift forms in the blink of an eye, rip him apart with no trouble, and then return to his original form just as quickly.

A creature that Mechanos had said was _not _to be harmed under _any _circumstances no matter what he said or did. Given Mechanos' current 'cold' feelings towards Marks and other 'failed' aces like him, James could have shifted, gutted Marks, and _still_ been invited to join Mechanos for whatever the hell the Emperor had planned to discuss with him. Of course Mechanos would have been fretful, after all, it would have been Marks' blood that was staining James de Launces hands.

The Emperor wouldn't want his 'prize' to arrive irritable and soiled by the blood of an incompetant, glory-seeking bastard like Marks. James allowed his eyes to flash dangerously before giving Marks a wave of his hand.

"I could go on, to be honest, but what's the point? Up until your assignment to Dieter Muntz's squadron your life and career was negligible. You were practically destined to live out your life in complete anonymity, passing from this life to the next without leaving so much as a whisper or an echo of yourself. _That_, I believe, was your _greatest _fear." James gave a glance to Marks' shoulders and huffed.

"Now, here you are, a Colonel. Yet, a Colonel _without _a force to command. Your benefactor ready to hand your ass and head to you on a silver platter. If you were to drop dead right here and now, who would miss you? Who would _mourn_ you?" James returned his features to normal and dropped his voice to a _very _low pitch and sneered.

"Absolutely _no one_."

Stiger coughed once and got James' attention before facing Marks.

"We should get going before Mechanos wonders what's taking us so long..." Marks gave him a venomous glance but nodded all the same.

"Fine. I want to be rid of our package and back to the airport before dark."

The walk through the barracks was just as uneventful as the drive there. It wan't until James was led into Facility 1 that things got interesting. The roar of generators and engines, the sound of steam-powered machines pounding on sheet metal, the familiar crackle of welders and the whir of air powered ratchets and wrenches got his attention and James stopped to overlook the factory floor.

On a wall nearby was a piece of metal that gave the floor number and what was being made on the floor. As James glanced, Marks chuckled.

"Impressive, isn't it? Emperor Mechanos spared no expense to copy your blueprints on how to build manufacturing areas. The fifth floor is only for infantry weapons, particularly the new 'assault rifles' he's been working on but you get the idea. Sorry you can't tour the whole building but there may be time for that later, unless Your Majesty doesn't really care about mingling with the common workers." James growled and actually considered making Marks have an unfortunate 'accident' here and now but a glance from Stiger made him hold back. Instead James sneered to him.

"Why don't you go take a long walk off a short pier? Or perhaps tie a weight around your feet and try to breathe underwater? Besides, I believe your duty was to simply escort me, I seriously have doubts that Mechanos would want you to report to him when it has been made abundantly clear that he wishes to speak to me, unless you wish to stick around and get yelled at for some unknown offense." Marks growled.

"Nice try but I _do_ have to report to the Emperor." James gave a condecending nod of understanding which only served to infuriate Marks even more as they crossed the factory and the walkway to the next building: Mechanos' Tower.

Almost as soon as James saw the tower, he froze, flashbacks from the Dalon Conflict surfacing, unbidden, to his mind. The race to the top floor, the explosions as the floating fortress started to sink, the _massive_ explosion that ripped the tower in half as he and Lysa barely escaped Dalon's last ditch trap. All of this he remembered as if it had happened yesterday.

Even though painstaking efforts had been made, James' eyes recognized burn marks from the flames of the explosion still visible on the tower under the hastily applied coats of paint. Areas where new steel plates were bolted, rivetted, and welded to the older structure were visible and had been hastily painted to seemingly give a sense of uniformity. On the fifteenth floor of the tower, where the explosion had split it open, there was a 'belt' of steel that was wrapped around the tower and fastened by numerous bolts and welds which in turn had been reinforced with numerous sheets of steel every ten feet or so around the diameter.

It didn't escape James that he was staring into a ghost of his past. Stiger had told him that Mechanos had salvaged the _Poseidon_ and used pieces of it in his island citidel construction but he had failed to mention that Mechanos had actually _rebuilt_ the central tower that had, at one point, been Dalon's seat of power.

As they entered the tower, James was struck by the quiet of the place. Compared to the last time he had stood in this tower, it was now as quiet as a tomb. aside from the groaning as the metal expanded and shrank as heat from the sun ebbed and flowed through it. Though the tower had been rebuilt, it appeared Mechanos hadn't actually thought of furnishing the structure. The floor they were on, the sixth floor, was simply an empty space. James remembered running up the tower as the fortress started sinking under them. As they reached the eighth floor though, James was struck by the fact that the stairway going up further was sealed off by a slab of steel. In the middle of the floor was a large elevator that must have been one of Mechanos' modifications. Marks saw James' expression and chuckled.

"One of the Emperor's many improvements. A single lift going straight up to his office. No stairs, no ladders, and you have to have a key to operate it. Only one way to get to him and, if he feels he is in danger, he has a kill switch that blows up the cable holding the elevator." James chuckled at that which took Marks off guard.

"A perfect defence. If one was a cornered rat. Yet, for this plan's merits, it _does_ have flaws." Marks glanced to him.

"Such as?" James gave him an unsettling grin.

"As if I'd say what I was thinking. Then again, if I was given time I could probably come up with at least eighteen ways to circumvent these countermeasures." Marks grunted, assuming James was bluffing, and then produced the key needed to operate the lift. As it started, the elevator rose slowly, then picked up speed as it got higher. As they neared the top floop, the lift started slowing down and James chuckled.

"Last time I was in this tower I had to fight to the top floor." Marks sighed.

"Well the Emperor didn't see any reason to put in several dozen meaningless flights of stairs when he is the sole occupant of the tower. He's a genius but lately he's even more paranoid than usual." James chuckled.

"Considering how many times you and others like you have failed him, let his plans, his superweapons, all his gains all go to waste? Who could blame him? If I recall, you were present at how many failures? I believe the _Whirlwind_ was the first real failure you allowed to happen, then of course the _Hydra_ in Avalon, the silver griffon _Princess_ Ayura, and most recently the loss of the _Chimera_ at Launces. Heh, you must be on _pretty_ thin ice." Marks growled angrily, a sound more akin to one a dragon would make rather than a human.

"Keep talking like that _Your Majesty_, and I will actually consider tossing you through the first window we come to." James chuckled.

"Then of course I will have to shift into dragon form and land safely on the ground and you'll have to go all the way down to the ground floor and bring me back up to Mechanos and explain the delay _and_ the broken window." Marks fumed angrily as the elevator stopped and the doors slid open.

In stark contrast to the floors below, the top floor of the tower was richly decorated. Almost immedately upon leaving, James could smell the aroma of rich tobacco, cherry wood, paper, ink, whiskey, coffee, and then also the familiar smell of a medium-rare center cut sirloin steak, steamed vegetables, fresh spring rolls, and strawberry-pineapple upside down cake. As they advanced across the room, two guards dressed in class A uniforms opened the wood and glass doors to the inner room.

There, seated at the dining table against the far wall, was Emperor Otto Mechanos, patiently waiting, hands folded calmly, and eyeing his new arrivals with keen interest. His greying hair was combed neatly, his clothes formally pressed and decorated with numerous accolades and awards he likey had just pinned upon himself He even had a mockery of the Syllian Cross made of onyx and steel around his neck on a blood red ribbon. He gave a nod to the guards and motioned to the seat across from him.

"Your Majesty. It is a pleasure to meet you face to face at last. Please forgive me for not standing, a lifetime of bending over a drawing desk and seated behind one has given me a severe case of gout in my legs and they're acting up today. I do hope your trip was pleasant." James gave a polite nod and gazed around the room.

"I must say you have made an improvement to this room since the last time I was here. You've scrapped the old pipes and machinery and made the whole room seem much more livable." Mechanos gave a smile and nodded.

"Of course. This _is _my home away from home. Unlike Gregory Dalon, I have certain... _comforts_... that in my old age I cannot even contemplate living without. A large office with plenty of space for my workbench, my library, my designs and drawings. Almost everything I've every worked for in my long life is symbolized here in this office. Oh, forgive me, you must be famished from your trip, please, be seated, we can talk shop after you have had dinner."

James gave a cautious glance but then decided to be polite for the time being. After all, if Mechanos had wanted him dead, there had been plenty of opportunities to do so en route here. He doubted Mechanos would stoop so low as to poison the drink of a 'guest'. He took the seat and glanced at the servant who set a plate down before him and poured a glass of wine for him before doing the same for Mechanos. Mechanos glanced at the bottle and nodded.

"Chateau de Glorie 1870, a wonderful vintage. Tell me, Your Majesty, do you have a preference?" James nodded.

"Indeed. Normally I prefer the Riesling or perhaps an Grand Astor-Lindt 1880 vintage. But, the best wine I think I ever had was during my second anniversary to my wife. My daughter had just been born, and my wife and I enjoyed a wonderfully rare vintage found in a sealed off section of the castle's wine cellar, a Castille Braun Vintage 1720." Mechanos gave a sigh and his left hand went to his chest.

"Be still my beating heart. How I envy you. Few wines can match the color, the taste, and the sheer beauty of the Castille Braun vintages. I regret I have only tried one once before and that was in my youth. I wasn't as... experienced as I am now and sadly drank it as if it were a common table wine. To be honest, the fact that Castille Braun was destroyed during the War of 1810 was a travesty in and of itself." James chuckled and nodded.

"My former steward, Bertram Ross, would have agreed with you wholeheartedly, if he were still with us." Mechanos nodded.

"Indeed. Even in this far off place in the world, the knowledge that Bertram Ross possessed has been taught and retaught to many a starry-eyed schoolboy. I'd like to think that, if my son had lived long enough to pursue his dreams, he'd have made a wonderful doctor." James glanced at him.

"You had a son?" Mechanos nodded.

"Indeed. My wife, Birgette, poor woman, died in childbirth. My son, Lawrence, died just after his sixteenth birthday. He was out riding his horse when a snake startled it. The horse reared, fell backwards, and crushed him. He had long told me he wanted to go into medical school. I've had plenty of time to reflect on everything I did in my younger years. If I could turn back the hands of time, I would do a lot of things differently." James gave a nod.

"I know that feeling. Not a day goes by I don't miss my family, my parents and siblings. I know that their deaths are avenged and their souls are at peace but... I can't help but wonder my parent's reaction to their grandchildren, their great-grandchildren. I... I keep picturing my parents at the old summer home, trying to spoil those grandkids rotten." Mechanos chuckled.

"There is a pleasure I never could claim for myself. Nothing makes an old man feel young again than watching the young run around, play, enjoying life. These days though, I occupy my time with my drawings and my designs. Bah... One of the great sorrows of mankind. The greatest advances in human history come in the tempest of war." James nodded.

"Indeed. Speaking of war, may I ask, why did you precipitate this conflict?" Mechanos sighed.

"That, I'm afraid, is a question I am unable to answer at the present time. Oh, speaking of which, I have someone I'd like to introduce to you." Mechanos glanced to the guards who nodded and walked to another door and opened it.

A loud clanking noise was heard as the door opened, getting James' attention. He turned out of curiousity to see a man in a full suit of armor come in through the door. The armor was in and of itself a ghastly sight. Not so much as because the form of the man was mishapen, but for the fact that the man gave rattling breaths, the limbs, connected with hoses, pipes, and steel rods, moved with jerky, delayed motions. Mechanos motioned the man over and gave James a smile.

"Your Majesty, may I present my assistant, Mr. Sir." James glanced to the metal man with a frown.

"That's a rather strange name. Usually means that either your real name is something that is best left unsaid or that you don't really bother with it." The metal man grunted something James couldn't understand but Mechanos chuckled.

"I believe you hit the nail on the head, Your Majesty. He's _actually_ shy." James huffed.

"Seriously? To be honest, the last time I saw a man looking like this, it was one of Dalon's automen." Mechanos gave him a grin.

"Is that so? Well then, I think an introduction is in order. Would you like to meet the man behind the mask, James de Launces?" The metal man suddenly grunted in shock.

_"Sir, I would recommend against that. As you know, I only remove my faceplate for maintenance and during that process, I can't breathe properly."_ Mechanos chuckled.

"For a man who survived what you went through, you seem awefully timid. I don't think I've ever seen you so reluctant. Maybe because we have a bit of a crowd with us. Colonel Marks, I'll speak to _you_ later. All of you are dismissed." The guards nodded and left the room, ushering out Stiger and Marks who was still confused as to the whole thing. James glanced at the departing group curiously and then back to Mechanos.

"I don't understand what the big deal is. I don't give a damn _who_ he is. It's not like I've ever met him before." Mr. Sir stopped still for a moment and then gazed at James.

_"Actually, that isn't entirely true. You __**have**__ met me before. Of course, it has been a long time." _James gave a puzzled glance at Mechanos who only smirked as Mr. Sir unfastened the clamps on his helmet and faceplate. The wheezing grew louder and James could hear the distinct sound of an artificial pump working in time with his breathing. As the faceplate came away, James went ramrod straight, eyes widening.

Mr. Sir had scars running across his face and scalp. He had no hair, no beard, no moustache, no eyebrows or eyelashes. He was also deathly pale and upon closer glance, the tube that enabled the breathing machine to work was grafted into his neck. Despite the scars, the lack of hair, and the horrifically disfigured man before him, one thing stood out.

His eyes: Dark green.

Mr. Sir gave a lopsided smile and spoke, his voice now unimpeded by the faceplate but still raspy thanks to the tube.

"It's has been too long, James de Launces."

James found himself struggling for breath. Mechanos' smile widened as he gazed at the two before him.

Standing before James, for the second time in his life, was Gregory Dalon.

...

...

Or rather, what was _**left **_of him.


	68. A Conference Across Continents

Nothing much to say in the foreword. Too tired...

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 67: A Conference Across Continents

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James knew enough to keep his emotions in check as he was escorted by Stiger from Mechanos' tower to his quarters in Facility 3. Thankfully, he was given his privacy but outside the door were four guards Mechanos had assigned to him for 'protection'. Still, despite the tension after the meeting, James was able to watch the last few moments of sunset before turning off the lights in his room and going to bed. Still though, he felt something was off and started glancing about the room. After a few moments of quietly searching (i.e. using his mana tp follow trace electrical signals), he found listening devices, bugs, strewn throughout the room in several places.

The first he found was behind a paining of, what else, Mechanos standing before a warship, likely a Tyrann-class battlecruiser, as it slid into the water with a shattered champagne bottle in his hand. Another was found in the lamp by his bed, a third by his chair, a fourth in the shower. Another was hidden in the recess of an inkwell on the desk, and another _actually_ hidden in the fountain pen itself. The last however, was a bit difficult to imagine, but also ridiculous to do so as well. Then again, hiding a bug in the water tank of the toilet wasn't the smartest of ideas.

At least the Rotarians were... inventive. But they had failed in one department. No one had bothered to search James. If they had, they would have found the stash of blue crystals in his coat that he kept in case of an emergency.

Not that they would have known what they were without an intimate knowledge of the arcane. Then again, most humans, when seeing something shiny and crystaline in structure, would assume it's a gem stone and try to abscond with it. It was one way, James thought, that humans were like magpies in a way, always going after things that glittered and sparkled.

Gingerly, James removed one of the gems, went to bed, and channeled a little mana to the gem. In a flash, the room around him melted and he was standing, as before, on a hill overlooking an incomplete Warfang. Just as he turned however, he heard a roar and saw a shape plunging out of the sky. He had just enough warning to jump t the side and shift before the shape landed on him. As his vision became stable, he gazed up at Malefor who was highly irate.

"Just what in the Ancestor's names did you think you were **_doing_**?! Half the spirit world and most of the real world is up in arms over this stunt you pulled! _Letting_ yourself get captured, if you weren't my own flesh and blood, I'd throttle you here and now!" James waited for Malefor to finish before sighing.

"I know it was reckless but I had no other alternative. What I've learned here means that our previous timetable must be completely thrown out the window. Can you contact Lysa and the others for me?" Malefor nodded.

"Already done as soon as you pulled a spirit gem out of your coat. Lysa and Thera are scrambling to find their's. Josh, Bertram, and George are almost ready." A moment later, a large flash erupted and James found himself in a near deathgrip from his mate as he embraced him tightly, screaming at him for being such a fool. After relenting in her embrace for a moment, James nodded to her to step away for a moment. His sons, his daughter, his mate, his ancestors, his grandchildren, they all stood before him.

"Lysa. All our previous plans have to be scrapped." Lysa looked to James curiously.

"Why love? And why are you pale as a sheet?" Josh nodded.

"Indeed Dad, you look like you've seen a ghost... er... sorry Grandfather." James glanced to Malefor and then to his wife.

"You're not far off Josh... Mechanos... he's built his last bastion on Black Sand Island, a small volcanic island just off the coast of Rotiart. If that wasn't enough, he's been using parts salvaged from the wreckage of Dalon's fortress, _Poseidon_, to build it. Plus... that's not all..." James took a deep breath to glance at Malefor and Lysa before continuing.

"The _Poseidon_ isn't the only blast from the past... He's back... Dalon... He's _alive_." Lysa's jaw dropped, as did Malefor's. George looked to his Father, eyes stern.

"Dad, are you sure?" James nodded.

"His face and body may have changed with time and scarring but, those eyes... I'll never forget those eyes... Somehow, Mechanos must have saved his life and, according to Stiger, the spy I'm working with, Mechanos made Dalon into an Automan. Only this time, he did something different. Created an Automan that retains its faculties. Dalon has been reanimated through the use of a black gem and his body is sustained through machinery grafted into what remains of his original body." Malefor growled angrily.

"Blast it. It was my fault you know? I used my influence from my prison to slowly corrupt Dalon. If I hadn't..." James shook his head.

"Don't blame yourself. Dalon was already long past the point of sanity when he encountered you. His tactics and actions in the Federation War proved as much. Him being removed from his position and stripped of his rank, if not the tipping point, was just the rock tying itself to an already drowning man. Still, despite his being a foe, no one deserves to go through what he is currently enduring." Malefor nodded in agreement and James turned back to Lysa.

"What I can't figure out is what Stiger said. He said that not all of the experts Mechanos has imprisoned here are cooperative. There are some who, given the chance, would likely sacrifice themselves to stop his plans. Stiger included Dalon in that list." Malefor coughed and shook his head.

"Impossible. An Automan is like any other undead. Completely obedient to their master. Trust me, I know." James looked to Malefor then rubbed his index finger on his chin, pondering something..

"Still though, what would make an Automan or an undead turn on its master? If there was such a way?" Malefor thought for a moment and nodded.

"There is a way but it entails the dark arts. It is possible for one necromancer to wrest control of another's undead hordes from him. I also did _that_ several times when I was evil. The process should be similar for commandeering control of an Automan. If someone has done that though, he likely has control of Dalon like one would have a puppet on a string. Dalon will dance to Mechanos' tune a bit longer before whoever or whatever controls him now will decide to change the music. Once that happens, as you humans say, 'all bets are off'." He sighed.

"In the end there is no way of us knowing who or what is currently Dalon's puppeteer. It may be an experienced necromancer from another land or it could be a worse foe than Mechanos." James nodded to him but then felt uneasy.

"I also saw a glimpse of Mechanos' weapons factory. He's building scores more weapons and ammunition than he has soldiers under his command. Everything from pistols to rifles to machineguns and even bazookas. There is also something else. The island, Mechanos has something called the CCC which, if I'm to hazzard a guess based on what I've overheard, can artificially control weather." James glanced to Bertram and Josh in particular.

"The CCC has made the weather on and around the island foggy almost on an around the clock basis. It's so thick that any attackers wouldn't be able to see three feet in front of them. This makes an aerial and naval assault problematic and apparently you need a special passcode to gain access to the CCC facilities." James glanced to Lysa and sighed.

"We may need to divert a small force to skip the fighting in Rotiart, if there is any, and focus on making a landing operation on Black Sand Island. If that is not possible, then I am giving permission to use the Thunderer Project."

Lysa gasped in horror. Thunderer was the codename for the reverse-engineered atomic weapons program. At present, there was only one bomb but it was powerful enough to obliterate an island half Black Sand Island's size. She shook her head, denying the option.

"James, trust us to figure out something. Don't go abandoning all hope yet." James chuckled weakly.

"_'Abandon all hope, ye who enter here'_... The Divine Comedy... I feel as if I may have just willingly walked through the gates of the Abyss to dance a jig for whatever demons Mechanos has stewing in this place. If there are anymore Automen like Dalon or even if there are some of the old Automen, any battle fought here will be costly and bloody. If I must sacrifice myself to save the lives of who knows how many thousands, tens of thousands, _hundreds_ of thousands, I would consider it a worthy sacrifice." Lysa started to object but James raised a foreclaw, his face set. He turned to his children.

"Black Sand Island is a fortress unlike any other I have ever seen. Of all the structures on the island, only ten percent, maybe, are on the surface. The rest are all underground, connected by a huge network of steel, concrete, and rebar reinforced tunnels large enough that one could drive eight Marmota-class tanks side by side down the road and still have room for the rank and file to march by." George gaped at that bit of intel but remained silent as James continued.

"There are checkpoints every two miles and at every branching point. With the airport, only the runway and and the two six floors of the control tower are above ground, the hangars, fuel storage and other facilities are under a four-foot thick slab of steel that serves as the roof. This makes it immune to aerial bombardment and has a series of lifts that can raise up and launch roughly twenty fighters per run." Josh sighed and glanced to his Father.

"What about naval strength?" James nodded.

"Stiger gave me some idea of what to expect. The largest concentration is to the south of the island where the naval facilities are located. There are eight Titan III-class battleships, six Titan II and Titan I-class battleships, around a dozen Tyrann-class battlecruisers, and several dozen vessels of various light cruiser, heavy destroyer, and destroy-escort classes. There are also submarines ranging from two person midget subs, ten crew patrol subs, eighteen crew interceptor subs, larger combat subs, and the last of the Gigantic-class super subs. He even has a few he supposedly build for Damoneni called a 'missile sub'."

"Furthermore, there are shore batteries along the south, east, and west sides of the island. All cannons are at least nine-inch diameter and are specially modified with prototype hydraulic loading systems. Reduces the required crew from ten to four and boosts the rate of fire from these cannons from three rounds per minute to ten in practice conditions but the crews are veterans and are believed to be able to fire _fourteen_ rounds per minute." Josh grimaced, quickly adding up the numbers in his head.

"Puts a whole new meaning to the phrase 'making it rain'." James nodded.

"To date, no active battleships we have would be able to withstand that kind of punishment for any period of time. Therefore, Lysa, instruct the shipyards at Eastport and Grand Bay to finish up whatever touches are needed for the Maelstrom-class battleships and deploy them. Josh, the time has come to make it official. My son, I am promoting you to Admiral, and giving you permanent command of the Fifth Fleet and am assigning the seven Maelstrom battleships to your command." Josh stood dumbfounded as Bertram, Thera, and George congradulated him. James gave them a moment and then turned to George.

"George, what I'm going to ask of you is difficult but I need you and the forces attatched to the army you're with to score a crushing victory against Mechanos' forces. It needs to be a victory of such complete and utter success that he will have to focus all his efforts on that part of the line, leaving him blind to any other theatres of war." George glanced to his Mother and siblings and then nodded.

"I've already made plans to link up with the Federation Sixth Armored. They are currently readying to spearhead an assault through occupied territory and head towards the weak spot in the rear we identified as the city of Gotha, the home of the Rotarian Air Force." James nodded, understanding what he was saying and then turned to Bertram.

"Bertram. As I said, an aerial attack will be difficult but not impossible. I want your force mobilized along with every fighter, bomber, gunship, and transport we have. We will save the Thunderer Project as a last result. I will work from the ground, try and get the access code to the CCC and shut it down from the inside. Once it's down, launch a massive aerial strike against the shore batteries and naval forces." James returned his gaze to Josh.

"While Bertram is raising hell from the air, Josh, try and maneuver your fleet, if possible, to the undefended north side of the island. From there, you can assault the airfield, as well as do considerable damage to some of Mechanos' structures and factories." James took a moment to glance to Lysa.

"Once the enemy is in disarray, the ground forces on the LSTs will launch and troops from the transports will parachute onto the island from above. If we can make this succeed, it will be the last battle of the war." James suddenly felt the spiritual connection shiver, a sign that someone was wanting to talk to someone in the group. He embraced Lysa once more.

"I'll stay safe. I promise. We _will_ end this war and return home, _together_."

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James awoke to find Stiger sitting next to his bed, a concerned expression on his face.

"Are you feeling well, Your Majesty? Should I send for a doctor?" James shook his head. He quickly put away the blue crystal although he detected Stiger glancing at it before reverting his gaze back to him.

"No need. What time is it?" Stiger checked his watch.

"It is seven in the morning. All things considered, I hope you got a restful night's sleep." James gave a small nod. Stiger returned the nod.

"I have been assigned as your escort around the base. Mechanos believes he is rewarding me for my efforts to capture you. I am to take you to the R&amp;D building under Facility 3. Besides asset housing, this place is also a laboratory for research." James snorted.

"Mechanos has broken the cardinal rule: never work where you sleep." Stiger chuckled.

"I know, the first time I was here some oaf tried to create a type of poison gas to use as a deterrant. Instead he created the mother of all stink bombs. Took maintenance an entire month to clear the smell from the building. On the upside, after the incident, Mechanos had compartments installed and special air filters placed to prevent such inconveniences from happening again." James glanced to him.

"What happened to the oaf?" Stiger chuckled.

"Bastard tried again, he succeeded but forgot to seal the lab properly. He along with three others died. Mechanos abandoned poison gas projects shortly after that." James blinked in surprise.

"So even Mechanos isn't completely crazy." Stiger shook his head.

"No, he's crazy alright. He just discontinued the experiments because he figured that nuclear weapons had more of an effect than a gas cloud. There's a scientist named Gordon Waitz, who's an expert in the field of nuclear technology. He has devised a way to scale down a nuclear weapon until it's the size of a bazooka, man-portable. He's also figured out how to use nuclear material in artillery shells, flak shells, and other high caliber explosives." James gave him a 'surely you're jesting' look and Stiger again shook his head.

"I know what you're thinking but yes, it's true, and almost every cannon, anti-air flak gun, and even a few heavy tanks are equipped with a few of these new weapons of mass destruction. Mind you, they're not as powerful as a real bomb but, a flak round from one of those cannons could potentially obliterate an entire squadron of fighters or even bombers. And even one of your Marmota tanks wouldn't be able to survive a direct hit from one of those atomic shells." James gritted his teeth in frustration.

"Mechanos has essentially rendered advancements such as weapon caliber and armor thickness null and void. A light, high speed tank with a forty millimeter cannon would be able to stop an entire assault force. What about the naval shells?" Stiger nodded.

"There we have a small bit of luck. Mechanos is hurting, desperately, for more atomic material. Uranium is too difficult to find and ship and the more advanced Plutonium is impossible to produce in great quantities. It's a balancing game for him." Stiger placed a hand on his chin to think for a moment.

"I would estimate that, perhaps, the naval guns only have, at the most, three shells per cannon, and that's for every _four_ emplacements. The tanks would likely only be equipped with five of these rounds, and likely only assigned to veteran or elite gunners and crews. The flak guns have a mixed ammo drum, every tenth round is an atomic shell, the rest are standard, tracer, or incendiary." James sighed.

"Still bad news for that one-in-a-million chance. Stiger, how old are you?" Stiger glanced to James and shrugged.

"I'm almost thirty-six. Why do you ask?"

"I've seen a lot of war in my life. No matter where on the field you are, that one chance is all the enemy needs to kill you. Sometimes it's a matter of luck, others it's pure skill or lack thereof. I've seen the probable and the improbable. I once saw a bullet richochet of a soldier's helmet and strike an officer in the throat. I've seen artillery shells falling from hastily aimed guns land on top of single individuals and obliterate their bodies." James sighed.

"Hell, once I actually tripped over my _own _two feet, fired the weapon in my hand, and a moment later a large bronze banded goose crashed in front of me. What I'm saying is that as long as there's a chance something will happen, it will." Stiger nodded.

"Indeed. As that old quip goes: 'Anything that can go wrong, _will_ go wrong.' James nodded.

"By the way, now that we're out of earshot and I'm fairly certain that Mechanos has not bugged the halls, I need to ask. What's the situation in Rotiart itself?" Stiger sighed.

"It's... Well, for a lack of words that do it justice, a hot mess. Riots in the streets, soldiers going AWOL, deserting, or just failing to report for duty. The Griffon Corps' defection has made all the towns close to the nests suspect for treason and sedition. As a result, dread griffons constantly fly the sky, plucking up anyone suspected of having treasonous or seditious intent. There's even a corps of loyalists called the Rotiart First, or RF, that is openly executing anyone saying that we should sue for peace, surrender, or thinking of defecting to the Syllian forces." His gaze dropped to the floor.

"There have already been over two-hundred public executions. Three of those were mass executions. The RF just lined up the people along a trench and turned their machineguns on them. They are also starting a new type of warfare, training children to use weapons like grenades, rocket launchers, pistols, how to set bombs, even flamethrowers. They use terror as a weapon. It's made worse that every member of the RF wears a metal plate over his gas mask every time he patrols. Gives them the illusion they are faceless, soulless, monsters." James nodded his sympathy.

"The people want peace. They want their loved ones back home but their leader refuses to abandon his ship. Such thinking has been the downfall of many a military leader and a politician, both in war and peace, for good, and evil." Stiger nodded.

"There is a rumor that the remaining RAAF pilots, mostly recruits and a few Incursion veterans, have mutinied and have declared the city of Gotha a free city for anyone wishing to put the war behind them. **_If_** the Syllians have a plan to liberate Gotha, it would be a welocme relief to the people. If Mechanos puts any stock in rumors, and I fear he does, Gotha will soon be in his crosshairs for a retaliatory strike for their treason, real or imagined." James slowed his pace as Stiger's words clicked into place.

"Any idea how long it may take for him to ready such a strike?" Stiger shrugged.

"No idea; but if I _did_ have an inkling as to when he was planning such an attack, I would say perhaps sometime next week at the latest. You know, I happened to catch a glimpse of a report in Mechanos' field office that stated that the 121st Armored Corps is asking for reinforcements along the Tsessarevitch Highway. Apparently they are spread so thin there that an attack of any size or magnitude would potentially shatter the front line and give the force a clear shot to the Rotarian border, and Gotha." James gave a small smile and nodded.

"_'No matter the size of the wall, a single crack can be its destruction'_." Stiger nodded.

"Who said that, sir?" James chuckled.

"One of my ancestors, Albeir de Launces. He was a heavy Dragoon in the Dracocorps during a war some three-hundred years ago. Went into battle with a halberd, full plate armor, astride a monsterous earth dragon named Everest. They fought against Emperor Chi-Sang's Third Imperial Legion at the Battle of the Valley Lao. The Emperor had built a massive wall that spanned the valley and completely encircled the capital city of the Tai-Lang Empire." Stiger glanced at him in amazement.

"Using his halberd, as well as Everest's earth magic, Albeir created a rift in the wall large enough that the wall collapsed under its own weight, killing the men garrisoned there to a man, and allowed the rebel forces under the command of Prince Kai-Sung to storm the capital, kill Chi-Sang, and overthrow his corrupt government. Up until about eighty years ago, Syllia and the Tai-Lang Empire have been close allies but recent relations have been rather... _frigid_ of late." Stiger chuckled.

"You sure have a lot of tales about your family Your Majesty." James nodded.

"Indeed. If what I knew could fill a book, I would have a tome twice the size of Ecklehart's _Treatice of Rhein_ and almost as thick as Cambrei's _Complete History of the Holy Praetorian Empire_. It would take me at least a century to write down all I know of my ancestor's heroics." Stiger nodded.

"Well, as a dragon, I assume you have nothing _but_ time, right?" James chuckled but then sighed and shook his head.

"I may be a dragon, but don't forget I'm only _half_ dragon. My mother was a human. I may have a longer life span than most humans, I may well live to see one-hundred fifty or perhaps a second century, if I focus on keeping my body healthy for the rest of my days; but I'll never reach the five, six, seven-hundred year or a thousand year life spans of some dragons. I am mortal, and my time is fleeting." James gazed at the floor and then out a window overlooking the fog-shrouded island.

"My wife, my children, my grandchildren, they will outlive me by centuries. They will still be alive when my bones have long since turned to dust and I am but a figure in the history books. A person spoken of by teachers to wide-eyed school children. At least as a dragon, I will be able to speak with my descendants, so long as they do not forsake and abandon their heritage." James glanced to Stiger.

"What about you? Any family?" Stiger shook his head.

"No. My Dad was a drunken soldier on a weekend liberty and my Mom a lady of the evening at a run-down, dimly-lit tavern somewhere in the ass-end of the country. He was gone by the next day, and as soon as I was born, she left me with priests who rasied me, taught me several skills that I still employ as a spy. Later did a little digging to find them. Mom was stabbed by an angry client who claimed he had caught some kind of sickness from her. Dad was killed in some far off battle in Land's End. Some place called Lemming Point." James nodded that he had heard of that battle.

In 1901, the Land's End 3rd Militia had mutinied against the provisional government. Mercenaries from all corners of the world, even Syllia, had joined the Rebel Militia seeking fortune but more had seen the right of the provisional government and had joined with the opposite side. The Faulkson Rebellion, as it came to be known, ended with a series of battles at three hills: Breed Hill, Boxer Hill, and Caulker Hill, each one a crushing defeat for the rebels. The 3rd Militia were shattered, almost 80% of their forces killed or taken prisoner.

The leaders of the Rebellion, and those remaining loyal to them, threw themselves off Lemming Point, choosing to die rather than surrender and be taken prisoner.

As James continued walking alongside Stiger to the R&amp;D facility, he began to wonder, and worry, that his plan wasn't enough. There is no such thing as a riskless victory, but, there were still too many things that could go wrong.

Somewhere, in Tellanos, his eldest son was at that very moment, charging into the weak spot that Stiger had told him of. Whether that weak spot would remain weak, or if it was a trap, he had no way of knowing.


	69. Damocles Pt1

Hi everyone. I know it's been a while since I updated but I have been a little busy at home. Anyway, now I have some free time so I can get this done and post it.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 68: Damocles, Pt. 1

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George patted himself down inside the tank as another burst of frigid air blew in through the open turret. His loader, Corporal Gordon Fox, turned to look at him.

"Cold sir?" George gave him a flat look.

"What gave it away? Was it the uncharacteristic chattering of my teeth? The way I constant rub my hands up and down my sleeves? I'll tell you now, is Corke doesn't fix that damn engine and get the heater working I'm going to go outside and fix _him_. At this rate I'd be willing to give a medal to anyone who can bring my temperature up a few degrees. I don't care how they do it, even if they set my pants on fire to do it."

Fox chuckled at that as suddenly a loud clang and a colorful tirade of swear words came from the area behind the turret and a grease covered Sergeant Kay Corke poked his head into the turret, a rueful expression on his face. George gave him a stern glance but the driver/mechanic shook his head.

"Don't know how it happened Major, but the engine is a damn mess. Bearings are almost siezed, the drive rod and the casing is damn near cracked clean through, and the radiator is full of ice." George cursed.

"I _told_ that ass of a mechanic at base _not_ to use regular water in the radiator. Didn't that turkey get the weather report that said 'unseasonable cold snap expected'?" Corke shook his head.

"Spoke to the guy before we advanced to our current predicament. Said it was a calculated risk as he was completely out of that special coolant. Odds are we're not the only tank knocked out in the cold with a siezed engine." George sighed and turned to his gunner and second in command.

"Chuck, hand me that radio so I can bite someone's head off. Depending on their tone with me I might do it _literally_." Lieutenant Charles 'Chuck' Bosniac nodded and warmed up the radio before handing the transmitter to George who grimaced as his hand touched the ice cold metal and yet another blast of cold air found its way into the tank.

"This is tank Echo Two-Niner to Headquarters. Come in HQ."

_"HQ to E29, what is your current situation?"_

"We're out of action. Engine is busted and radiator is frozen." The was an incredulous curse from the other end of the line.

_"How the hell?! E29 you're the sixteenth tank to report that same damn problem. Is there a problem with the MT-32s?"_ George sighed.

"No, nothing's wrong with the tank itself, just a bad choice on the engine coolant. Mechanics put regular distilled water instead of de-icing coolant in the radiator. Anyway, when can we expect a replacement?"

_"E29, what is your current position?"_ George checked his map and then glanced around outside then keyed the radio.

"We're just about where we should have been. I have a farmhouse on my right, and I see the outline of a small town on my left." There was silence on the other end.

"HQ? You there?"

_"E29, has your radio been on long?"_

"Just a few minutes. It had to warm up, why?"

_"Three battalions of Rotarian hold-outs launched a counter-attack out from Ekateri and have pushed the front line back to Sevastos. Effective immediately you're on the front lines!"_ George went wide-eyed, as did every member of his crew and he turned back to where Corke had been and heard a hurried rapping with tools.

"Corke!"

"I heard Major! I'll get this bucket running even if I have to get out and push!" George turned to his turret crew.

"Load all weapons! AP for the main, Incendiary for the secondary! Corke! I don't mind the engine taking time but can we at _least_ get the heater going quickly? I swear I'm starting to see icicles forming on Dexter's nose!" The bow gunner, Corporal Ambrose Dexter, a young man who's most noticable feature was his large nose and the bushy moustache underneath, gave a flimsy chuckle.

"Yeah Major, laugh it up. You know, I once drove six hours across Syllia to hear you perform before the war?" George chuckled as Dexter unwittingly walked into the joke.

"Yeah, and your nose made it in five. In the meantime Dexter, see if you can't pry yourself from your seat long enough to step out back and help Corke get the engine fixed. Failing that, I expect you to help him push. He isn't exactly a spring chicken, you know." The young man nodded and popped the hatch to exit the tank and his footsteps echoed as he clambered over the outside to reach the engine compartment. After a moment, George rose from his position and clambered out of the turret, binoculars in hand, and scanned the surrounding area.

As far as the eye could see, white snow blanketed the ground and even more snow was falling by the second. The old half-collapsed barn was just barely visible in the distance and even further away lights from a church bell tower could faintly be made out. He glanced behind the turret to see the two men working on the engine.

"Corke. I see a town in the distance but the barn is closer; if you can get the engine working, how long can it function without coolant? Could we get inside that old barn and find shelter?" Corke stopped working for a moment and set aside the small welding torch and then nodded.

"It's possible. Of course, if we can defrost the radiator and liquify the coolant, and **keep **it liquid, we _should_ be able to make it to the town in the distance. We may be behind enemy lines but the town is still Tellanian. I have little doubt they would give us a hand. Once repairs are complete, we should cause as much havoc as possible. Something you should be well aquainted with, eh Major?" George chuckled.

"One thing at a time. If I remember the map correctly, either the 222nd Engineers or the 308th King's Rifles are stationed there. Then again if they were pulled back or relieved we may also have the 82nd or 84th Federal Paratroops for company." Chuck sighed.

"I guess I'd better brush up on my Tellanian. You know, less than forty percent of the Federation speaks Syllian? And out of those, less than eight percent can speak without an overly thick accent." George sighed and turned to Chuck.

"Never mind brushing up on it. If we can get there we can get sme help. Tellanian or Syllian we're all on the same side."

At that moment, a noise was heard from the back followed by another tirade of swear words as Corke poked his head back into the turret.

"No dice sir, engine is confirmed shot. Twelve out of the twenty pistons and valves in the engine are sheared clean from the cold. The engine, and thus the tank, is kaput."

George swore and then looked around at his crew and sighed.

"I suppose there's no helping it. Everyone bundle up nice and tight and take what ammunition we can. Looks like we're proceeding on foot. Since the tank has no heater, it would be borderline stupidity to remain in this freezer. At least with the town there is a possibility of heat and shelter."

As the crew nodded in agreement, Corke stuck his head back in.

"Excuse me sir, but you may want to see this." He then withdrew his head from the turret and started yelling something. George, curious and angry, rose from his seat and glanced out to see an astonishing sight.

There, on the barely visible main road, was line upon line of Tellanian soldiers. The carried rifles mostly but others drug machineguns and litters filled with supplies and medical equipment through the snow. As soon as George could see them clearly, an officer in the lead spotted the tank and called a halt to the march and approached the tank.

Immediately George dismounted the tank and saluted the officer who in turn saluted by raising his right hand in greeting. There, on his glove, George caught sight of a red star sewn into the glove and grimaced. He had heard of these soldiers.

If you believed Federal propaganda, they were traitors willing to do whatever was nessessary, including wholesale murder, to get what they wanted. There was also another side, and another story, that these soldiers were locked up and called traitors because they disputed what some people called 'barbaric tactics' of the Federal Committee.

They were known as the Tellanian Unification Army. An army comprised of rebels, political prisoners, and all manner of others that the Federation was known to disavow and lock away when the peace was threatened. The officer before George had Colonel's markings but seemed to be rather polite.

"Greetings Major. What seems to be the trouble?" George nodded to the tank.

"The Rotarian Army, or what's left of it, has launched a surprise offensive. This area, as far as I'm aware, is now the front line and thanks to a mechanic's screw up back at HQ, my tank is out of action. The engine is shot, the hydraulics are gone, and the heater is out. I was just about to dismount my crew and head for that town there when you and your men showed up." The officer glanced at the tank and nodded.

"How fortunate then, that we should meet. For you see, we are also heading to that village to try and hold the line wherever possible. At the moment, my commanding officer, General Ivanov, is leading another counter attack farther north of here. It is likely that the enemy, upon encountering resistance there, will likely try to bypass them by coming south. That's where we come in." George nodded.

"The hounds to the hunters." The officer nodded.

"You and your crew are welcome to fall in with us if you like. If the Federal Army has done one thing right in these past few days it is take the offensive, not dig in. Though it pains Comrade Ivanov to say it, the Tellanian people owe it all to you Syllians. He has issued an order to all soldiers under his command: Not one step back. So then, how about it? Care for a night on the town? Maybe, if we're lucky, send a few of these Rotarian bastards to hell?"

George, despite knowing that the TUA was a force widely considered by most Tellanians to be a force of traitors, nodded and motioned for his crew to fall in with the Tellanian infantry. The officer was obviously pleased with his nod and then clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Excellent to hear. Now then Major, allow me to introduce myself, I am Colonel Sergei Korovitch, commander of the United 3rd Heavy Assault Brigade." George nodded.

"Major George de Launces, commander of the B Company, Syllian Royal Army, 412th Armored Corps. This is my second in command, Lieutenant Charles Bosniac, and my crew." Colonel Korovitch froze at the mention of 'de Launces' and looked at George closer.

"Did you say _de Launces_? As in the Syllian royal family?" George nodded.

"I am the eldest son of James de Launces." The officer looked stunned.

"You mean to tell me that the oldest son of the King and Queen is out here freezing his ass off with the rest of us?" George nodded.

"While most people wouldn't put it _quite_ like _that_, yes, I am in fact a serving line officer. Now even my position as Crown Prince prevents me from serving my country." A soldier glanced at him and then smiled.

"Guess we may need to reevaluate our opinions of Syllia. We thought for sure that nobles and royals would be exempt from fighting and foist it all on the common man." George chuckled.

"I know of some, only a few mind you, nobles that would prefer it that way. But of course in my Father's opinion, rank means nothing when the nation is threatened. In his mind, a stint in the military is one hell of a character building experience. He once said he could immediately tell the difference between those who have simply hunted fox and those who have spent time in foxholes." The soldier chuckled.

"Well rest assured sir, most of us here have spent more time in foxholes than we'd like. At least until the General gave the order to advance and not dig an more foxholes. The General is hardly alone in his desire to see the Rotarians out of our homeland before summer sets in."

As George talked with Colonel Korovitch, Corke has headed over to the barn to relieve himself and then came running back with a look of surprise on his face.

"Major! We may not have to abandon the tank!"

"What are you talking about Corke?"

"There's a tractor in the barn there. I just need a moment to get it running and put the tank in neutral and I believe we can tow it." George chuckled at that.

"And here I thought my autoclub benefits were worthless. Free towing with every third offensive." The sound of soldiers laughing at the joke was cut short by a whistling sound that began growing louder. George immediately paled and turned to the Colonel.

"Incoming!" Korovitch turned to his men.

"Scatter!"

The soldiers had just landed in the ditches along the snow-covered road when a shell impacted the barn where Corke had gone to get the tractor. There was a massive explosion and the barn splintered and George felt splinters and dirt rain down on top of him. Immediately, a familiar ringing filled his ears and he grimaced in pain.

"M-or!" George cautiously raised his head and glanced around to see a crater where the barn had been.

"M-or!" George thought he heard something and slowly shook his head as if to clear something but for some reason the ringing didn't subside. He glanced to his right and didn't see anyone and then to his left and saw Chuck glancing at him with a worried expression.

"A- y-u al-g-t?" Gerorge clenched his teeth and shook his head again and then looked back to Chuck. He thought he said something but wasn't sure.

"S-r, ar- -ou al-ig-t?" Almost immediately, a Tellanian with a medic's insignia came over and checked him out and then pointed to something on George worriedly. George lifted his hand to the right side of his head and felt something wet. Pulling his hand back, he saw his hand had blood on it.

"H-'s bl-edi-g fr-m h-s r-ght ea-! He ma- hav- a con-us-i-n!" George frowned and rose and shook his head to the medic, despite the headache and looked to Chuck and felt relieved as the ringing slowly subsided.

"What was that?" Chuck looked relieved.

"I don't know sir. Shell just came out of nowhere. Corke... he's dead." George turned to Colonel Korovitch who was just rising and frowned.

"Colonel, any idea what that was?" Korovitch shook his head.

"No idea Major. My intel said the Rotarians didn't have any significant artillery presence. Either they managed to pull a division of artillery out of their asses, which, by the way, is a trick I would pay a year's salary to see; or my intel is... inaccurate." At that moment, Dexter who had been taking shelter in the tank came up with the radio headset pressed to one ear.

"Sir! We've got a _big_ problem!" George looked to him.

"How big?" He spread his arms out.

"_BIG_. And heavily armed. A Rotarian locomotive that looks like it came out of a horror movie just blew across the border pulling over fifty-seven cars including a _massive_ railgun that make the weapons that levelled Retorinc look like peashooters. From what I can hear from an obs plane overhead, there's an unarmed battleship somewhere in Mechanos' harbor because that gun sounds like the heavy hitters used on capital-class ships." George cursed.

"Any chance for an airstrike?" Dexter shook his head.

"Nope. The cars in surrounding the railgun are like mobile pillboxes. The obs plane is having to fly loop-the-loops even as it's transmitting-" Dexter stopped midsentence and gave a glance west before cursing.

"Dex? What's wrong?" Dexter set down the headset.

"Obs plane just went down. A shell they thought was a clear miss just detonated. Shockwave broke the aircraft in half." George looked to him.

"Shockwave? What the hell kind of rounds were they shooting?" Dex shrugged.

"Don't know, all I know is that an engineering unit we have checking an old bridge in the area had one of those new-fangled 'geiger counters' His Majesty invented and the damn thing lit up like a Yule tree." George frowned as he thought of what it meant.

"So then, Mechanos has created atomic shells for anti-air cannons? Hmm... what if that's not the only thing he's created nuclear rounds for?" Dex looked to him.

"You mean it's possible that the railgun could have atomic shells?" George nodded.

"We're pushing Mechanos' forces back. This small counter attack could have just been a chance to try and get a trump card drawn to use against us. We don't have a tank, but we _do_ have a plan. If I recall the map correctly, there is a railroad bridge nearby. All we have to do is set some charges on the bridge, and when the train passes over them, we detonate it and send the entire thing into the chasm."

"That's a fair plan Major but, quick question, do we have any charges strong enough?" George smirked.

"Now Dex, don't tell me all those summers you spent during break from university were spent being idle? I remember you bragging that during grade school you were quite the pyromaniac." Dex glanced to George and nodded.

"Rest assured George, I am many things but never idle. Of course I still do some work with pyrotechnics but that is fireworks and little cherry bombs for pranks and entertainment. You're talking about a... well a bomb. A bomb big enough to destroy a bridge built to withstand several hundred tons of machinery travelling at high speed on an almost hourly basis." George nodded.

"Well, can you do it or not?" At that moment, Colonel Korovitch came forward.

"My men and I will give any help we can." Dex glanced at the soldiers and then to George and then smiled.

"Colonel, I'm going to need every man with a strong back to help me. I have an idea, but it requires literally every single cannon shell we have in the tank turret _and_ hull magazine. We have some prototype thermite rounds that, if I can rig some wiring to, I could use them as cutting torches to destroy the supports of the bridge. However, the trick is that we cannons set the charges on the foot of the support columns and blow them, the bridge would stand long enough for the train to cross before falling. We have to place the charges on the legs almost right under the tracks."

"Which means we'd be in the path of an oncoming train that, for all intents and purposes, will not stop for anyone on the tracks." Dex nodded.

"I can rig the charges fairly quickly, the trick will be getting them up onto the bridge before the train arrives and keep them from shaking bad enough to prematurely detonate them." George nodded.

"We have our plan then. First we get to the town, make the charges, and then we advance further and set them to the bridge." Colonel Korovitch nodded to him and then pointed out several people.

"Vladinov! Dominik! Ressler! Help him offload those shells! Kapavin, get that wagon up here!" Three large brutes of men stepped out of the ranks, handed off their rifles and gear to others and then after a muffled curse, a rather lanky man with glasses came up looking sheepish.

"Colonel, the mules-" Korovitch uttered a colorful curse.

"Damn stubborn jackasses... FINE! Unhitch those abstinent creatures from the wagon and hitch some of those horses to it, Captain Danalov's cavalry regiment be damned! They want to ride into battle like the warriors of old? Let the jackass ride a jackass!"

Moments later four big horses came up pulling a wagon that had once been used to carry hay came rolling up alongside the tank. At a nod from Korovitch, the soldiers in the tank started unloading the magazines.

"Armor-piercing, high-explosive, shrapnel, incendiary, and last but not least, thermite. Let's hope we can make it in time."

At that moment, a loud, haunting train whistle echoed over the pass. George looked to Korovitch and then to Dex.

"That's one train I hope runs late."


End file.
